Champion's Lullaby: Outtake
by Kalaert
Summary: A fan's humble outtakes of the amazing fanfiction 'Champion's Lullaby'. It's such a wonderful AU world that it deserves it's own fanfiction. Give the author love! Mostly featuring Harry and his Minions.
1. Chapter 1

_**To**_**: SweetCaroline91('****Favorite Fanfic Author of the Summer****'****)**

_**From**_**: Kalaert ('****Devoted Reader Who Doesn't Have Much Internet Time Beyond Quick Trips To The Internet Café To Copy and Paste The Newest Chapter Unto Her Flash Drive****' ****and '****Who Has Shamefully Never Left A Review Or Favourited****' ****and '****Who Humbly Presents This To The Author In Supplication****'****) **

_**For**_**: *coughbribingcough* ****The Amazing Story Known as 'Champions Lullaby' **

**A/N: **This author is awesomesauce, and her story is fantastic. Try it! You won't be disappointed (you will be strung out on the edge of a cliffhanger though. But you'll love that too). Go and show her love!

**Disclaimer: **This story idea is not mine, Harry Potter and Glee are not mine. No money is being made off this, and I only used these ideas in the most poetic sense where I give all credit to the original creators. Think of it like me trying to emulate you and basically show my love of your work. Because I do, and I am.

* * *

**Omake: Kinks, Phobias and Obnoxious Friends**

It was shaping up to be a lovely weekend. In fact it started out that way. Afternoon classes were canceled due to an emergency staff meeting dealing with the mysterious illness that had suddenly befallen the principal, board of directors and several teachers (Kurt noticed the Weasley twins looking particularly shifty when that was announced). Harry took Kurt out to a wonderful dinner – a huge risk since he was leaving the others to their own devices. It was bad enough when they got restless and bored. Without him there to be all logical and clever, their half-baked plots might actually destroy them all. Harry, well-used to ignoring his feeble conscience, spared half a thought of coming back to find the whole school burned to the ground with Ron and the twins dancing madly in the ashes. Then he got distracted by the way Kurt slid a forkful of delicious cheesecake between his much-more-delicious lips. He gave a manly whimper, but managed to change it into a weird, high-pitched cough when Kurt looked at him suspiciously.

Hell, who cared about the fate of Dalton? The real dilemma was his need to get laid. Preferably soon.

There was no need to worry anyway. Most of his friends followed his lead, taking their special someones out for the afternoon, while the rest took the time to catch up on their neglected sleep. This significantly reduced the usual level of mayhem at Dalton. Thus did Friday end on a good note.

But all good things must come to an end. And the morning after his date, it became apparent that Fred had reverted to his thirteen year old girl form: grinning and giggling to himself; loudly reciting bad poetry (that he made up on the spot); flouncing around in a horrible imitation of ballet with cardboard wings taped to his shoulders, and shooting exaggerated winks at anyone who looked at him. He not only knew he was being aggravating, he was enjoying it too.

Anyone could see he was just dying to tell someone what had him in such a good mood, but honestly, no one wanted to know. The leer on his face said it all.

After Fred started in on the sappy love songs, his friends and family were ready to disown him. But since he would probably make himself an even bigger pain in the backside until they took him back, they did the next best thing.

Not a soul protested when Harry and the other, currently saner, twin stuffed a muffin in his mouth and frog-marched him back to their room. Ron, Kurt and Blaine pretended to be extremely busy while they shoved him in the bathroom and locked it from the outside.

Big mistake.

For a while everything was fine and dandy. Ron tried teaching Blaine how to play chess, with George making faces over his shoulder that made Blaine snicker. Harry curled up on the bed next to Kurt, who was glued to his laptop, and began going through Luna's newest art portfolio. It contained jewelry (mainly rings), wedding cakes and, for whatever undisclosed reason, photo-manipulated pictures of him and Kurt in complimenting tuxedos. Harry frowned as he felt an impending sense of doom. Just like he did before that time she talked him into freeing a whale.

Or the time she took him to the circus and they ended up substituting for the acrobats.

Or the time they liberated an ice-cream truck parked down the street and ended up cosplaying at a Lord of the Rings convention.

Or the time she convinced him to sneak into a college party and they ended up painted like matching rainbow murals with wooden antlers. He still didn't understand that one.

Before he could try puzzling it out for the fiftieth time, Fred decided to disturb the peace with loud, abrasive singing. He began with Taylor Swift's 'You Belong With Me', and it all went downhill from there. The love songs were endless, intentionally off-tune and worse, catchy. The acoustics were a whole lot better in there, but the singing was not. In fact, for someone who could actually sing, Fred was so horrible it was almost impressive. He was amazingly cringe-worthy singing Mariah Carey, Justin Timberlake and Whitney Houston. He butchered Justin Beiber, Madonna and Chris Brown. When he started on 'Teenage Dream', Harry tossed the portfolio and buried his head under a pillow with a heartfelt moan. Ron, George and even Blaine, the devoted Katy Perry fanboy, stuffed their fingers in their ears. Kurt turned the music on the laptop to the highest setting, but that didn't work either; it just encouraged him to sing louder.

Ron struggled valiantly through Celine Dion, Rihanna, Beyonce and Britney Spears (delivered opera style), but when Fred started on the chorus of David Blunt's 'You're Beautiful' he shot out of the room, phone in hand. A couple minutes later he stuck his head through the doorway. Clumps of red hair stuck up violently where he'd been tugging on it in frustration. He looked almost as crazy as he was.

"I'm taking Hermione on an impromptu date!" he yelled to them. "She says she's got a fatal case of the frizzies cuz of the humidity, but she's taking pity on me because of that song. Good luck, mates!"

And just like that he was gone.

"Traitor!" Harry called, voice muffled. Kurt frowned at him worriedly, wondering if he was getting enough air with how tightly he was clasping that pillow over his head.

Five minutes later Jeff appeared at the door, hands over his ears. Kurt and Blaine were only too happy for the unplanned Warblers' rehearsal, shooting guilty looks at Harry (who was sitting up and pouting at them, pillow still around his head) as they fled.

Finally, only George and Harry were left to suffer – a fitting punishment for imprisoning Fred, or so karma would have it. They looked at each other's haggard faces and silently admitted defeat. George went up to the bathroom door, spat out the key in his mouth into his hand and unlocked it.

"And as long as you hold me clooooooooooo-!"

George shoved the door open with a loud bang, shocking Fred into silence. Harry looked over to see him sitting on the closed toilet, a washed-out red (pink) towel on his head turban-style and an empty roll of toilet paper held in the parody of a mike. During 'Let It Snow' he'd obviously gotten carried away – there was shredded toilet paper all over the bathroom, and more falling softly from the air.

George glared. Harry rubbed his aching temples, muttering darkly.

Fred regrouped quickly, scrambling off the toilet. "Hi mates. Did you enjoy the show? I know I did. It's called 'Bathroom Ballads' and I'm thinking of having Lee promote it; he's deejaying this summer. It'll be a hit with the _ladies_."

The grating, off-key singing and face-splitting grin were bad enough, but Fred's sly wink was the absolute last straw. George finally snapped.

"Ok, we've had enough. Spill it."

"Spill what?"

"Why you're so damn happy!"

"It's like you've been possessed by a Care Bear," Harry added, absently gathering the pictures that had spilled all over the bed.

Fred pouted. "Couldn't it be something more manly?"

"Like what, Barney? A Teletubby?" George asked scathingly. "I think the blue one's a guy, would that suffice?"

He was rewarded with a scowl. But even Fred's dark look was better than the 'obnoxiously-in-love' one from before. Or the 'singing' that was more like 'cruel and unusual torture'.

George ruthlessly squashed the twinge of guilt he felt. Everyone in their little group knew that Fred had a phobia of schizophrenic girls, singing-and-dancing mutant animals and...whatever the hell Teletubbies were supposed to be. George didn't even remember why, only that there'd been a _'traumatizing event'_ with a floating parade at Disney World, followed by six months of therapy.

They'd started calling themselves 'Gred and Forge' because at that time 'George' brought up images of the curious monkey. 'The Land of Time' became a series of horror shorts. Even to this day, the codename for boobaas was 'Pygmy Puff' and it doubled as an insult. The reason they even had a codename was because they were taboo...due to the fact that even _hearing_ their name turned Fred rabid.

All right, that last one was partly George's fault...but he hadn't meant to cause so much damage. Honestly! It was just an innocent little prank (or an attempt to help his twin overcome his fear, whichever sounded better in court). How was he to know it would turn out so horribly, devastatingly, unspeakably _wrong_? How was he supposed to know that the weird little fluffy things had satanic powers, or that they hypnotized their victims, planting subliminal messages into their minds? That _Inception_ movie hadn't even come out yet!

Well, come to think of it, Luna used to watch that show all the time when they were younger...that really should've tipped him off. Especially as she had the black, shriveled heart of a vampire, and the intelligence to match. Or maybe she was just possessed by a demon. Note how she enticed her prey into her deceptively soft hands and proceeded to suck their souls out.

"You know, there are some things you don't absolutely _need_ to know," Fred glared, looking sulky. He crossed the room and slouched down next to Harry. His faded-red (pink) turban had fallen off halfway there, but everyone ignored it.

"That's bull, Fred. We're brothers, twins. I know what you know. And Harry's like the Godfather of our Mafia group. We have no secrets among us."

George scoffed, and flopped down on Harry's other side (so that 'the Godfather' would be the human shield if Fred decided to punch him for bringing up bad memories). Harry rolled his eyes, knowing this but beyond caring at that point. As long as Fred was doing something else, he wasn't singing, and right now Harry would put up with a lot just for that.

"OK then. Angelina and I got it on last night."

George stared at him. "That's all? You're _this_ happy because you got to second base?"

He looked just about ready to knock his brother's block off.

Fred smiled blissfully. "Five times."

George gaped.

"Three times yesterday and two last night."

His twin looked less irritated and more respectful.

"You haven't been possessed by a Care Bear. You've been possessed by a porn star."

Fred winked. _Again_.

Harry finally abandoned Luna's portfolio to ask, "Did you keep the headmaster's Viagra when you switched them for laxatives last weekend?"

"Nah. You remember the secret experiments we've been conducting in the evil lair?" That was their codename for the Chemistry lab (which, for some strange reason, was down in the school's drafty basement). They both nodded 'yes'. "Well I was the latest test subject." He finished modestly.

A wicked grin crawled over George's face.

"And you decided to spice things up once you felt the full effects, did you?" he teased.

"Oh, _stop it_, you're making me blush!" Fred giggled, covering his cheeks with both hands and lowering his eyes coyly. Then he dropped the act and leered at them. "I really let loose, guys. I was a dynamo, the epitome of a sex idol! At one point she was begging me for mercy, but I just kept a-going –"

George grimaced in disgust, a sure sign of his overactive imagination.

"Fred," he interrupted. "You know what? You were right. We should definitely keep some things private."

Harry snorted. "You do know he was using deliberately misleading language to gross you out, right? Encouraging you to get off his case. Very subtle Fred," he added sarcastically. "Next time, please try to resist over-sharing."

As one the twins swiveled their heads round to eye him speculatively. This sizing up went on for a very long, uncomfortable thirty seconds. Harry began to get that caged-in feeling...a prelude to disaster.

"What?" He asked warily, edging away. His self-preservation instincts were tingling.

"So Harry," Fred suddenly began, draping one arm around Harry's neck and tugging him close so he couldn't escape. "You've been holding out on us. It's not like you to be this quiet about your consort."

"It's always _'Kurt this'_ and _'Kurt that'_ and _'Kurt's so awesome I will worship at his altar forever'_," his brother added grumpily. "Usually we have to threaten to tape your mouth shut to get any peace around here."

"Silence is golden, duct tape is silver," Fred solemnly intoned. "But now you've stopped talking altogether. It's _maddening_."

"It's so un_fair_."

"You're an evil, suspense-feeding monster!"

"I took an Unbreakable Vow of silence, remember?" Harry said dryly. "You demanded it."

The twins gasped and managed to look affronted. "You make it sound like we forced you to."

"Yeah, it was only a suggestion."

"A strongly worded suggestion, true."

"And, well, we may have implied that refusal to comply would be met with violent consequences."

"Us waving our makeshift weapons around would have given you that idea…"

"Having Hermione lecture you on boundaries may have been too much, though…"

"Let's not forget the part where you tied me to a chair and made Ron give me _the Talk_."

"Oh yeah, that was definitely overdoing it. Sorry..."

"...but it was all for The Greater Good. We needed to preserve the little bit of our sanity that remains. It's endangered."

George shrugged. "The girls called it an intervention. We went with it."

"_Riiii_ght," Harry drawled. "Well, I'll thank you not to poke your nose into places it doesn't belong."

"Just as soon as you answer us about Kurt," Fred agreed pleasantly.

Harry groaned. "You've completely missed the point."

"No, we're just ignoring your thinly veiled threats until you satisfy our curiosity."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"Satisfaction brought it back," they chorused together gleefully.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, I do."

"What a coincidence, I do too!"

"Your determination is outmatched by our joined tenacity," Fred insisted.

"Come on, fearless leader. Sharing is caring," George added, batting his eyelashes coyly. It was disturbingly cute. Like a Disney piranha.

The right side of Fred's face went into spasms at the sight of it.

Harry scoffed. "No."

But would they take that for an answer? _Of course not_. Those two didn't know the meaning of the word. Harry screwed his eyes shut and groaned inwardly as the questions came pouring in.

"Does he meet the standards of an excellent boyfriend?"

"Do you always make the first move?"

"How does he let you know he wants to be kissed?"

"Has he groped you yet? I've caught him staring at your ass, completely _mesmerized_…"

"Does he make that funny squeaking noise when you're necking?"

"What does he smell like..."

"...and how does he make you feel?"

"On a scale of one to ten, how was your date yesterday?"

"Were you nervous?"

"Did you guys have the chocolate cheesecake? Or the," a lascivious giggle "_vanilla_ with strawberries on top?"

A knowing look, "Were you jealous of the fork?"

"Did he make a fuss about you footing the bill?"

"What was he wearing?"

"What's his kink?"

"Do you kink together?"

"Have you even gotten to second base yet?"

"Does he pull your hair? Is he a biter?"

"Licker?"

"Moaner?"

"Screamer?"

"Grabber?"

"Spanker?"

"Nipple-puller?"

"_Nipple-puller?_" Fred and Harry said incredulously, staring at George.

"Katie likes to pull on my nipple-ring," he mumbled, flushing self-consciously. When they continued to stare he crossed his arms over his chest area like a defensive virgin and said tersely, "It's a huge turn-on! Don't knock it 'til you try it."

Those few awkward moments that followed allowed Harry to finally slip out from under Fred's arm. Honestly, _why_ was his arm so heavy? Was it a side effect of Caveman Sundays where they ran around the park whacking each other with foam bats? He'd have to find another outlet for their pent-up aggression that didn't put him at risk of capture so often. Or ever.

Unfortunately, his latest escape brought their attention right back to him.

"So Harry, what is it? Is Kurt a chains and whips kind of guy?" Fred asked. They both looked at him expectantly.

"It's none of your business what he is; _you're_ not the ones dating him."

The twins stared at him blankly as he huffed and tidied up Luna's photos and sketches, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a straight answer. Then they looked at each other and started grinning.

"Yeah, that's right, he's dating _Harry Potter_."

"And Kurt is like his soul mate or something, right?"

"Yeah, no one else can handle all his drama and mood swings like Kurt. They're so perfect together it's borderline creepy. That can only mean one thing…"

"I knew he was a scratcher!"

Harry sighed, thoroughly exasperated. "Guys, I'm not discussing this anymore."

"You know we're right!"

"Yeah, your lips look guilty!"

Harry studiously ignored that.

"Your questions are inappropriate. They're invasive, insulting and frankly disturbing. So I am refusing to answer at all, case closed."

"Oh, I see what you did there," Fred said, sniffing haughtily. "You tricked me into spilling my big secret, but now you don't want to return the favor you're pulling the old '_I have integrity_' card."

George patted his brother on the arm comfortingly.

"Don't bother Fred; he's too afraid we'll judge him harshly for what he gets up to in bed."

Harry paused and cocked an eyebrow.

"You know, I'm not too afraid to tell your girlfriends – and my '_consort_' – you've been disrespecting them behind their backs, indulging in demeaning sex talk…"

He let that threat sink in for a minute then stood to walk away, tucking the bulging folder under his arm.

"You wouldn't!" both twins gasped in horror.

"Oh, if I did you'd be the first to know."

"But...I didn't mean it like that," Fred protested weakly.

The twins shuddered, envisioning their deaths at the hands of enraged feminists. The worst thing was, if Harry ratted them out he'd still come out squeaky clean and smelling of roses. And while they got their asses handed to them, he'd be on the sidelines with a camcorder, taping their embarrassment for future blackmail and smirking infuriatingly.

Just like he was smirking at them now. "I trust this conversation is now Obliviated?"

The twins nodded sourly.

"And there'll be no more sex talks? No more prying into my sex life with Kurt?"

The twins dutifully mimed zipping their lips shut.

"And no more bad singing or dancing or skipping down the hallways in a towel reciting bad poetry?"

They hesitated.

"Everyone sings in the shower," twin one protested mildly. "And it might not always be top form."

"And it's not like we'll always dance _perfectly_," twin two added. "Moody's 'Constant Vigilance!' is exhausting. Even saying it makes me tired."

"And what if Luna's next assignment involves us skipping down the – "

"_Alright_, I get it. Let me rephrase – there better be no more _intentionally_ bad singing or dancing. And the only skipping you'll do is at my or Luna's command."

Fred and George shook hands to show they agreed with those terms – they shook Harry's hand once each, and each other's hand twice.

"I no longer have any recollection of the last five hours. Everything is just a huge white blur."

"We'll swear it before the special court if you want us to."

"Good. That's all I needed to know."

As he walked off, he heard Fred whine, "What _I _really want to know is when the hell did you get a _nipple ring_? Actually, _why_ did you get a nipple ring? Now we don't match anymore! Everyone will be able to tell us apart – how am I supposed to deal with this loss of identity?"

"Get a clip-on, you great big adolescent schoolgirl," his twin answered dryly. "Crisis averted."


	2. Chapter 2

A/n: Since it's been so long I feel I should start by apologizing, but what the hell. I made no promises. And the long wait just means you get everything at once. This one is longer but unfinished for now. Disclaimer in the first chapter. Thanks to everyone who favourited or even just took the time to read, I love you all equally. Don't think too hard about that.

* * *

Omake: Harry and Luna's Big Summer Adventure

Let it be known that Harry was British. And he would take driving winds and heavy rains over this sunshine crap any day. The weather stations claimed this had been the hottest summer in Ohio for nearly twenty years: just day after day of baking heat.

The sun really seemed to be mocking him as he stood on the sweltering pavement waiting for Luna. He gazed fixedly at their bicycles, completely unable to move his eyeballs. Probably because they had melted into wax by now.

Some day, someone was going to find his skull, stick wicks in the gaping eye sockets, and use it as a cheerful holiday ornament.

At least then he wouldn't be forced to endure this utter boredom. Their bicycles – his very stylish and economical, hers a larger version of a little girl's, complete with sparkles and coloured streamers on the handlebars – were leaning low against someone's whitewashed fence. If he didn't know better he would say they were drooping in this bloody heat.

With monumental effort, he finally managed to turn his head to the right – and yup, Luna was still bent double, dithering around in the grass.

"Haven't you got what you're looking for _yet_?" he griped, blinking sweat out of his eyes.

"No, not yet," she said serenely, glancing up with a smile. Her hair fell around her face in curly waves that almost touched the ground. "Just a little longer."

"Oh go on, take your time," Harry said. "No hass. I'll just be over here, sinking into a bored stupor."

Luna giggled, turning back to rummaging in the stark brown grass. Harry sighed, and leaned against the fence with arms crossed.

Just then a little girl on roller skates passed by, eyeing them (i.e., eyeing Harry, and then Luna's bum waving in the air) curiously. She was probably on her way to a cool, shady park, or maybe an inflatable pool somewhere. And here he was, forced to stand in the sun and burn.

She caught him staring longingly at her ice lolly and, with childish smugness, smirked at him and began slobbering all over it.

Harry glared resentfully. How dare she mock him with her heavenly-looking treat?

The little brat scowled right back, sticking her tongue out as she glided away.

"Insolent little monster," he muttered. "I hope your tongue falls out next time you use it. I hope someone pokes a hole in your pool. I hope…"

Oh, bah. It was way too hot to bother. What had he been _thinking_ of, coming out here today?

Ah, right. Luna ran out of ice-cream.

It was a little known fact that Luna Lovegood loved to eat good. Worse – at least in Hermione's mind – even though her weekly food intake could feed a small third-world country for a month, she never seemed to gain any weight. Some might even say that her stomach was a black hole to rival Ron Weasley's.

Simply put, you do not take Luna Lovegood out to eat if your pockets are shallow, and you sure as hell never touch her Ben & Jerry's.

Of course, there were the dark days. Those horror-filled days when Luna ran out of ice-cream spelled doom and disaster for any living thing in a five mile radius. On those days, there was nothing in the world that would stand in her way of getting more ice-cream.

Not rabid dogs or burglar alarms. Not 'We're Closed' signs on bulletproof glass. Not even locked doors, ice-cold water and a human barricade (months later, that was still a painful memory).

So to her, blistering, record-breaking heat was inconsequential. And since they'd all banned her from wandering off by herself after the incident with the petting zoo, she'd 'insisted' that he come along with her this time. His opinion in the matter meant less than the sum total of negative zero.

* * *

"_Pleaaaaaseeeeee?"_

"_No…"_

_Luna's eyes got bigger and sadder and began swimming with tears. Harry looked on in horrified awe._

"_P-pretty p-p-please?" She whimpered. _

"_But I don't want to do anything!" he broke down, whining. "I just want to sit here and melt into a pool of misery!" _

_She sniffled. "Contradiction. Melting is a verb so you'll still be doing something…something very boring." _

"_Exactly! I'd rather be wrong and boring than move from this very spot," he said, glaring defiantly at her. _

_Considering that he was lying crumpled up on the floor – in the exact position he'd landed when she violently pushed him off the porch swing – that was actually saying something. It seemed...slightly uncomfortable. But then, after the thing with the circus, Luna would never doubt Harry's stamina and flexibility again. Or his ability to pull off designer Lycra. _

"_Fine," she sighed. Her tears dried up miraculously. "I didn't want to do this, but you leave me no choice. Either you help me or I tell Hermione exactly what you and Ron did with Crookshanks." _

_Harry sat up in a hurry. _

"_What? You can't – we just – no one is supposed to know about that!" _

_She looked down at him pityingly. _

"_Harry, that's the point of blackmail. Will you please bow to my wishes now?" _

_There was a long, tense silence where they stared each other down, sparks flying between their eyes. Harry blinked first, eyes stinging. Luna had a stare like a bloody _owl_. No fair. _

"_Fine," he said, pouting. "But I won't forget this. It's a sad day when your partner in crime double-crosses you."_

* * *

Ok, so he'd been overruled. But then, any sort of relationship with a female – friendly, romantic or otherwise – was full of compromise. Namely, the male compromised to keep the female happy, on the premise that her happiness was enough to cancel out his misery. So he had conceded.

Manfully.

Besides, Luna had been born with a...unique...face. She wasn't beautiful in the classic sense, but her face had a certain piquant charm. And it was that charm which she used to scam everyone.

Over half of her tactics wouldn't work on him otherwise, he was sure. He'd like to see any man resist her ruthless 'cute little girl' act, complete with puppy eyes. He'd have to be a soulless, heartless bastard. Or a lawyer.

So, there he was. Standing like a dolt on the pavement and seriously considering whether, in a few minutes, he would taste like charcoal or a well-done steak. And then...the luck gods deigned to smile on him.

He could hear it; the pure, sweet sound of salvation...if salvation sounded like an annoying instrumental recording of 'Mary Had A Little Lamb'. The end to his troubles was just around the corner...literally, as an ice-cream van rounded the bend in a slow-motion haze of heavenly white light.

Awestruck, Harry watched with parted lips as the van glided to a stop right in front of them, and his knight on a white horse (figuratively speaking) stuck his head out the window. The man glanced left and right over his suspicious moustache, then waved him closer.

Like a ghost, Harry drifted over to him.

"Hey kid, you look like you could use a good cooling down. I've got the ice-cream if you've got the money. How 'bout it?" Moustache Man's furry caterpillar eyebrows waggled suggestively.

Luna suddenly popped up between them, scaring them both half to death (which, in her logic, equalled one whole death, and if Harry had been any less of a man he'd be a corpse). The blonde's pupils were wide and diluted...well, more than usual.

"Hey, you're not my regular dealer," she said, brows furrowed.

"Uh, yeah. Rico, he had an accident," the man shrugged, looking shifty.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What kind of accident?"

"The kind that...really looked like an accident. Hey, what is this, the Spanish Inquisition? You want the goods or not?"

Harry nodded dumbly, eyes glazing over as he envisioned frolicking in the snow with a huge cone in each hand.

"You've got Death by Chocolate, right?" Luna breathed out, swatting idly at the area around Harry's head to dispel the sudden invasion of silly thoughts before they infected her.

Her eyes never left the ice-cream man's blotchy face. She never even blinked.

The dealer squinted at her suspiciously. "That depends...who's asking?"

He jerked back with a yelp as she suddenly lunged forward. Her hands clawed at the side of the door, finding purchase so she could climb up until they were face-to-face. The glare she gave him could've melted glaciers.

His moustache quivered.

"I know you have it," she said harshly. "It's the only one I ever take. You've got to give it to me. I need it to _live_."

"A regular huh?" he smiled shakily. "Just gotta check – there's lots of idiots out there who don't know what they're getting into. They want a thrill; they end up with all kinds of complications: brain freeze, chipped teeth, explosive diarrhoea, death...and then they try to sue our company. _Amateurs_."

Luna's heavy, laboured breathing turned deep and guttural as the withdrawal really kicked in.

"Hey, hey, relax. Don't worry," the dealer squeaked, sweat beading on his brow. "We've got a special deal on DBC today – buy two tubs for the whopping low price of two."

"Hey wait," said Harry, snapping out of his daydream of cold chocolaty goodness. "That's the same old thing Rico always offers –"

"Deal!" Luna interjected loudly. "Just give me my fix! I can't –"

"Alright, alright," Moustache Man held up his hands in surrender. "Just tell me how much you want –"

"Two tubs –" Harry began.

"Four!"

"Four tubs each," he amended, not missing a beat.

Luna began calming down as soon as the dealer turned to dig out the eight tubs of ice-cream. She finally let go of her death grip on the van. Back on solid ground, she smiled and stretched her hands out to take the first tub.

"Hold up," Moustache Man said suddenly, holding it out of reach. "Where's my money?"

Luna blinked, puzzled. And that's when Harry's stomach took a dive. His instincts started firing off like crazy; warning bells loudly pealing in his mind as the luck gods stopped smiling and burst out in sardonic laughter.

"Money?" she repeated, like it was a foreign concept.

Moustache Man was back to squinting suspiciously.

"Yeah, cold hard cash. If you don't have the paper you're not getting any."

From the look on her face, you'd think someone had stolen Luna's Chopard diamonds.

"But..." she said, lips trembling. "It's Free Ice-Cream Day, isn't it?"

Moustache Man's caterpillars migrated to his hairline. "Free what-now?"

Luna's eyes watered as she looked at him pleadingly. Unfortunately, Moustache Man was either a soulless low-wage worker or a reincarnated lawyer, because he remained unmoved.

In fact, he gave her a nasty smirk, snorted in amusement, and then dissolved into loud peals of laughter.

"_Free Ice-Cream_ _Day_? Oh, ha-ha," he hooted, revving up the engine. "Nice try kid, but you can forget about it. I don't mess with brokes."

He drove off laughing, the van's wheels screeching loudly and kicking up dust.

Coughing, Harry and Luna stumbled out of the thick dust cloud, wheeling their bicycles into the middle of the road.

"So," Harry gasped out. "Your ice-cream scam was a bust. What now?"

Staring off into the distance, Luna began to smile.

"Now, on to plan B."

She hopped onto her bicycle and took off like a shot, following the trail of burnt rubber. Soon all Harry could see of her was a blur of blond hair and furiously pumping legs.

"Well...crap," he sighed, straddling his bike and, against all reason, taking off after her. "So much for quitting while you're ahead, Potter."

* * *

From behind a strategically placed tree, Harry and Luna watched Mustache Man serve ice-cream to a noisy crowd of hyperactive kids, and were consumed by envy.

"This is ridiculous," Harry said, completely exhausted from heat-apathy. "I'd rather die of boredom at home than out here in the Sahara."

"Patience," the blonde beside him stressed. "All good things come to those who lie in wait."

"I'm almost positive that's not how the saying goes."

"'Almost positive' still leaves room for reinterpretation."

Harry lethargically rolled his eyes.

"Whatever happened to the intense signs of withdrawal you were displaying back there?" he abruptly asked.

"Hmm?" she blinked, slightly confused. "Oh, you mean from before? That was all part of the plan, though it didn't work as well as I'd hoped. I have a few hours until it sets in for real."

Harry just grinned wryly, shaking his head.

"I still don't see why we can't get your ice-cream at the supermarket."

Luna made an impatient noise. "It's not the same and you know it. Now shush, we have to wait for the perfect moment…"

Harry stared blankly at the side of her head.

"The perfect moment for what?"

Luna clamped a hand over his mouth, miming slitting his throat. Only then did Harry notice that the ice cream van was deserted, engine still running. Mustache Man had wandered over to some bushes near them and was squinting around suspiciously.

"Who's there?" he gruffly demanded.

The two of them kept silent, hardly daring to breathe, as the dealer took a few steps closer to their hiding spot. Before he came any closer, Harry pried Luna's hand off his mouth and gave a loud 'Meow!'

Luna looked at him as though he were a rare breed of octopus. He raised an eyebrow unrepentantly when the dealer's heavy footfalls stopped.

"Damn mangy cat," they heard him mutter as he strode back to the bushes and unzipped his pants.

Harry grimaced, but before he could do anything else Luna was shooting out of her crouch and tugging him along. They darted from tree to tree, then crept across the open pavement.

"Hey you!"

At the sound of Moustache Man's voice, they abandoned all pretence of stealth and ran like the dickens.

"To the ice-cream van!" Luna panted.

"_What!_" Harry was convinced he heard wrong. She couldn't really mean to –

"Just get in, there's no time for questions!"

Harry would have argued some more, but Moustache Man was gaining on them fast, bellowing like a rabid bull. By chance Harry spotted a hose lying abandoned on someone's lawn, water still gushing out. He snatched it up and aimed it at the dealer. Moustache Man was knocked right off his feet by the sheer force, yelling in shock and rage.

Harry dropped the hose and legged it.

Luna reached the van first, wrenching the passenger side door open and climbing in. A few seconds later Harry clambered in after her, forcing her to slide into the driver's seat.

"Hit the gas!" Harry screamed, slamming the door shut.

Her eyes glued on Moustache Man, who was getting to his feet and looking more pissed off by the minute, Luna gripped the wheel and stomped down. With a screech of burning rubber they were off.

* * *

Harry was beginning to regret this already.

Anxiously his eyes darted from the road, to the steadily climbing speed gauge, to the rear view mirror. In contrast, Luna was Zen as ever, with her Mona Lisa smile in place and her blond hair streaming in the wind. Unbidden, Harry's foot started tapping a fast staccato beat.

"Luna," he finally croaked. "There's an angry mob after us."

"If you ignore them they will eventually go away," she said in her mystical-hippie voice.

"Uh, yeah, I don't think so."

Luna shook her head, reaching out to turn up the cold air on the AC unit.

"Don't stress yourself out, Harry. Relax, enjoy the ride. If you look to the left you'll see the road to a popular make-out spot near the Whomping Willow," she said, looking unbearably cool and unruffled. "And over there is the infamous Forbidden Forest."

Harry just had to ask. "Why exactly is it forbidden?"

"Well..." Luna looked thoughtful. "It's a private forest reserve, not open to the public. Daddy says there's Heliopaths in there, like the Ghostrider, but really I think it's on account of the carnivorous spiders."

Harry's eyebrow shot up. "And just how would you know that?"

Luna scoffed derisively.

"I refuse to conform to society's rules when it won't even accept me."

"So you _deliberately_ walked into a dangerous area all alone and unprotected?"

"I wasn't alone," she stubbornly refuted. "I took Ronald and his twin brothers with me."

"Hang on," Harry said slowly, beginning to connect the dots. "Don't tell me _you're_ responsible for Ron's crippling fear of spiders..."

"All right, I won't."

"Good grief," Harry groaned.

"And there's the Great Hippogriff," she continued, blasé. She pointed in the direction of a knobbly rock.

Harry admitted that it looked like one if he squinted a little and tilted his head. But as far as distractions went, it wasn't all that successful. To tell the truth, Harry was close to panicking as Luna pressed down on the gas pedal and the needle shot to 60 mph.

"Luna, love, please remember that you don't have a driver's licence. And that we're squishy humans, easily susceptible to death and disfigurement."

The blonde sighed. "Fine. I'll get rid of the mob some other way. Here, hold this."

She crawled out of her seat. Harry yelled as the van made a wide arc, grabbing for the wheel.

"Woman, what the hell!"

"Just hold it while I take care of these guys!" she shot back impatiently.

Harry cursed under his breath as he eased into the driver's seat. Satisfied, Luna climbed precariously over into the back, stumbling a little from the rocking of the van. Bracing herself mentally, she spread her legs wide for balance and shoved the back doors open, fully expecting pandemonium.

She was not disappointed.

A veritable army of angry, red-faced people were chasing them on bicycles, scooters, skateboards, roller-skates and tired feet, clamouring to get their treats – or at least their money back.

As the chase went on the army got bigger; people waiting on the pavement for their ice-cream joined its ranks as they sped merrily past them. Everyone was angry and confused, shouting for the van to come back.

Luna made out a couple of foul curses mixed with threats of suing, more than a few complaints about cruddy customer service, and at least one "Just wait until I get my hands on you!" – which sounded an awful lot like Moustache Man.

The crowd just kept growing and growing... Dozens of thirsty, dissatisfied children, teens, parents, nannies and dogs shouted and screamed and barked and generally disrupted the peace of the quiet suburban neighbourhood as they kept up the pursuit.

They were getting close – too close.

Luna reached behind her, grabbed the first thing she touched, and flung it at the pimply-faced boy bearing down on their tailgate. It whacked him solidly in the head.

As he fell to the ground unconscious, the ones closest to him gave cries of victory and descended on his fallen form – or rather, on the huge tub of ice-cream that had knocked him out.

Thinking fast, Luna began throwing ice lollies, popsicles and ice-cream cartons at the horde with deadly accuracy. People started dropping like flies, partly because of heatstroke and exhaustion, but mostly because of her killer arm. Those medieval-style javelin throwing lessons were really paying off. Luna hadn't had this much fun since that time she and Harry broke into a secret government facility.

Cries of happiness and satisfaction became more and more frequent as people figured out how to catch the delicious missiles. They were promptly followed by cries of shock and pain as they were punched and tackled by those who didn't catch anything.

Suddenly, there was mass confusion of a different kind as the people turned on each other, trampling their fallen comrades as they chased the sweet delicious treats. In the space of five minutes, the seeds of dissent and discord sowed with every treat that fell into their midst had taken root, causing the army to violently turn on itself and self-destruct.

When the dust cleared, all you could see were dozens of unconscious bodies, young and...relatively young, lying prone on the road, while a few injured people hobbled away, clutching battered tubs of ice-cream. Luna commended herself on a job well done.

"Mischief Managed," she said cheerfully, shutting the doors.

Incredulous, Harry watched all this happen from the rear view mirrors, but just shook his head and kept driving…on the wrong side of the road. In his defence, Luna started out that way. He just took the wheel when she said to. He planned to switch lanes once he got out of suburbia and actual traffic appeared.

As for the lunacy that just transpired…he was blaming it all on the heat. It must be making people do crazy things. His hands were still shaking from the adrenaline rush. As she retook her seat Harry burst out,

"I can't believe we just hijacked an ice-cream van! In broad daylight!"

"Minor details."

"Luna, there were like fifty people there! What if we're arrested and they testify against us in court? We'll go straight to a detention centre, that's what. If Snape finds out about this he'll strangle me and throw me in a lake!"

She scoffed. "I gave them free ice-cream, Harry. Trust me; there is not one single Blubbering Humdinger in that crowd. We're their heroes. And as their heroes, we will render them incommunicado if they even _think_ of squealing."

She paused, considering. "And I predict three-quarters of them will suffer concussions and severe memory loss due to the blunt trauma they just experienced."

Harry opened his mouth to uselessly protest some more, but Luna steamrolled right over him.

"Besides, this is all for the Greater Good. You told me that if you ever began sinking into depression over your break-up I was to snap you out of it ASAP," she said innocently.

She turned her devastating 'Love-Me' version of the puppy eyes on him. Her bottom lip wobbled just a little.

"What am I doing wrong?"

Harry winced, peeling his eyes away from those wide, wet, impossibly blue eyes just in time to avoid running off the road. Just like that, his anger was deflated and replaced by a sick feeling of guilt.

He was horrible at handling weepy females. Even Luna's crocodile tears sent him into a tizzy.

"Er, no, you are – I mean, you're not wrong, it's just…damn, you're really good at that," he trailed off, catching another glimpse of her face from the corner of his eye. He exhaled noisily. "Fine, I give up."

Like magic, Luna's heart-wrenching face dissolved into a sunny smile. Harry snorted.

She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek as she climbed into the back of the van again.

"That's what I like to hear – the sound of surrender," she sang out.

"Just tell me this: is whatever you're up to going to end in property and/or bodily damage that can be traced back to us? I really don't want another lawsuit."

Luna's muffled voice drifted back to him, "Don't worry about it or you'll get wrinkles again."

"They weren't wrinkles! Just…lines of wisdom and happiness."

"Do you have faulty memory or is it just selective today?"

"You're one to talk. Your interpretation of my orders is very strange and disturbing. How the hell did you connect 'snap me out of my funk' with 'let's take a shot at Grand Theft Auto'?"

"I just take my missions very seriously."

Harry snorted, veering into the right lane as they came to the interchange, expertly ignoring the loud curses and blaring horns.

"Yeah right. If you don't have an ulterior motive, I'll run naked through the greatly revered halls of Dalton Academy."

"Mm hmm. All those poor repressed gay boys would personally thank me for it, too," she said, sighing wistfully. "So many ambitious young souls, so little time…I'd be drafting up contracts left and right.

Anyway, stop complaining. You know you're enjoying this. We're like escape artists! Looking back in the years to come, we will call this: Harry and Luna's Big Summer Adventure."

Harry shook his head, smiling despite himself when Luna climbed back to her seat and handed him an ice-cream cone. Double scoop, chocolate and rocky road, topped off with warm chocolate sauce and candies. In other words, a total sugar overload. She was manipulating him and they both knew it.

"Thanks," Harry said softly. They both knew he meant for more than the ice-cream.

"What would you be doing right now if you didn't have me?"

"Leading a sad, lonely and rather deprived existence, probably."

Her laughter was high and sweet and made Harry's lips quirk.

"Probably."

They settled into a comfortable silence, licking at their treats before they melted completely. Somehow, eating stolen ice-cream while cruising along the highway in a stolen van made it taste even better. As did the generous helping of chocolate sauce, gummy bears and, of course, sprinkles...

"No, think about it. They really _do_ taste like splinters of rainbow."

Harry scoffed disbelievingly.

"Skittles are the only snack that can claim that privilege. It's in their advertising spiel. Think of all the epic commercials!"

"Sprinkles are legitimate rainbow pieces," Luna insisted, "because all ice-cream flavours and toppings are made by leprechauns. Well, short grumpy Irish people in green uniforms were working there the last time I broke into Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, anyway. One even spit into the mixers for luck."

It took a moment for that to sink in.

Harry's tongue froze mid-lick, while Luna's lips parted in mute horror.

They looked at each other, then down at their ice-creams, then back at each other with blank expressions. Luna stuck her head out the window and spat out everything in her mouth.

Then she stuck her finger down her throat, attempting to induce vomiting.

"Maybe I should just eat crayons instead," Harry said over the retching sounds, flinging his cone out the window with a grimace.

Luna gave it up for a bad job and settled back in her seat, yanking out tissues from a box on the dashboard.

"Don't be silly, Harry Potter," she said matter-of-factly, dabbing at her mouth. "They clog your arteries and attract Flutterbees. Trust me when I say you don't want that to happen. The eggs they lay under your skin hatch into flobberworms…whose diet consists of amino acid, gamma globulin and fresh human entrails."

Harry choked.

"Ok, I agree that I don't want that to happen. Let's all just ignore the sarcasm dripping from what I said before."

The radio intercom device thingy suddenly buzzed to life, startling them. It was the loutish ice-cream dealer, only he sounded hoarse like he'd been crying. Or standing on the sidewalk screaming in outrage.

"This is...van has…compromised."

If anything was compromised, Harry though derisively, it was the device thingy. The sound quality was truly horrible – when it actually picked up transmission. Harry fiddled with the dials one-handed as Luna carefully reapplied her lip gloss.

"Do… a repair van? Give us…and we'll…"

"I can't…the location of my van…don't know where the hell it is! Those...blasted kids!"

"Sir, please refrain from…you were saying?"

"I'm saying…stolen by a kid…stupid accent…and that girl the company blacklisted! You…what the hell…supposed to do now?!"

Harry groaned again, throwing an accusing glance Luna's way. How the blazes had she gotten onto the company's black list? No, scratch that, why did she drag _him_ into it? He'd never be able to buy ice-cream from Florean Fortescue's ever again! Harry fumed, clutching the steering wheel as he waited for the red light to change.

Luna, however, just calmly pulled out her Blackberry. The one Harry had bought her in a moment of thoughtless ignorance, back before he realized he shouldn't enable her…back before he realized that her heart was a swinging lump of coal.

"What are you doing now?" he questioned warily.

"I'm googling directions to the closest library," she said without a hint of sarcasm. Harry's eyebrow rose all by itself. "Oh, here's a branch of my usual library. My fake library card should get me into the Restricted Section without difficulties…"

This was making no sense to him but hey, she had a reason for everything she did, didn't she?

"Oooh, they're advertising their air conditioning..."

Well then, that settled it. What could it hurt? They needed to lay low anyway. Hopefully, his faith in Luna would not lead to his untimely doom…this time. He had a feeling that, ultimately, all the weird, secretive things she did would culminate in an Armageddon that would spread across the multiverse.

He was really glad she was on his side. Most of the time.

* * *

They pulled up in a random car park. It was close to the library, an apartment complex on a main boulevard, a highway overpass and a strip mall with a supermarket. If they were lucky, the noise and condensation from the constant traffic would hide their presence for a while.

He cut the engine when his covert glances didn't reveal anyone staring at them in a menacing or perverted manner. Luna was busy pulling her hair into order.

"What are you gonna do after the library anyway?"

He eyed the strip mall apprehensively as he waited for her usual answer – retail therapy, with a quick fix of terrifying sales attendants. But instead she looked at him and shrugged, her glittery dress falling off one creamy shoulder, even as her eyes twinkled devilishly.

"Uh oh. Luna..." Harry began with a warning tone in his voice.

"Just trust me," she insisted, fixing her spiral earrings so they caught the light perfectly. Harry gave her a long look tinged with silent suffering. He really couldn't afford to underestimate this girl.

"Luna, what are you planning?"

She just patted him on the arm as she shoved her door open, hopping out moments after. The intense sunlight made her squint as she looked back at him. Or maybe it was the reflection of the light off her…everything. Her jewellery glittered fiercely, her dress sparkled like a human-sized disco ball, and above all the sun created an innocent halo around her blonde hair.

She looked eccentric – especially with lollies and coloured pencils in her hair – but harmless. Like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

Everything was a lie.

"There's a gas station over there. Please fill up the tank and don't ask annoying questions. I'd hate to hide your body all by myself," she said brightly, then lazily pirouetted on her heels and flounced off.

"Luna!"

She waved without turning back.

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Guess I'm on my own then."

Dealing with Luna in one of her moods was so taxing. As he started up the engine to do as she said, he admitted that it wasn't all bad. She never let him feel sorry for himself for too long. And at least there was never a dull moment with her.

What was the saying? 'Blonds have more fun'...?

Blonds would be awesome…if they weren't so cute and manipulative and _evil_.

* * *

When he got back he headed straight into the library. As the doors closed soundlessly behind him, he stood stock still, eyes slipping closed. Oh, lovely AC. Sweet, divine AC. At this moment he could even fool himself into thinking Luna had angelic qualities for leading him here.

After a brief, confusing detour he finally found her in the reference section. All five foot four of her was hidden by a stack of ancient books. Only the slight shimmer radiating from her outfit clued him in to where she was sitting, reading a rag-mag and sucking on one of the lollies she'd stuck in her messy bun. He sat down opposite her, undetected.

After a moment he casually remarked, "So what's dirty secret number seven?"

She jumped, flailing and almost falling off her chair. He smirked as her wide blue eyes flickered to his face.

Luna's guilty look turned into a frown once the jibe she registered.

"It's impolite to ask, you know. These are ancient secrets women use for devious man-eating purposes. As long as you're batting for our team – even just part time – you're not supposed to see it coming."

"I find that a tad hypocritical coming from you."

"That has nothing to do with anything," she said, and sniffed haughtily. "Besides, I haven't gotten _that _far. I was researching for you."

"Thanks, but I'm not quite to the dirty secret stage with anyone at the moment."

Luna huffed.

"That's not what I meant," she said, primly closing her magazine and setting it on the table. She leaned her elbows on the plastic surface and craned her neck forward so they could whisper.

Because ensconcing them in this dusty, deserted corner in the far back of the library just wasn't private enough.

"You seemed worried about us liberating the ice-cream van," she ignored his muttered comment about stolen property and criminal records, "so I decided, just this once, to adhere to an organized religion that does not promote regular human sacrifices."

He cocked an eyebrow.

"The twelfth commandment," she elaborated. "Thou shalt not get caught."

"Disregarding the fact that you skipped over the non-existent eleventh commandment, what's that got to do with this 'research' of yours?"

"When I came in I politely asked the reference librarian to get me the phone numbers of all the copies-and-signs-made-while-you-wait shops in the area. After that it was simply a matter of deduction by price and quality."

Harry blinked at the non-sequitur. Luna blinked back, her eyes wide and luminous, as she reached under the table for her tote bag. Like Hermione's, it always somehow seemed to have more space on the inside than the outside suggested (another ancient womanly secret?). Harry had learned not to question it.

From the bag she plucked out a neatly-folded piece of paper and slid it over to him. With trepidation, Harry opened it to read: _'Flourish and Blotts_' in pretty cursive; an address, a list of prices, and precise directions from the library complete with arrows and squiggly lines. His eyebrows went up as she went on to summarize her kooky plan.

"I am reluctantly impressed," he admitted.

"So it passes your inspection?"

"Hell, it's better than anything I've thought of, short of pushing the van into a lake. And it's a five minute drive at most. Let's go."

Harry did not miss how she tore the library barcode off the magazine before she slipped it into a thick, mouldy book she'd borrowed. He casually turned his head the other way, whistling. They had an arrangement after all: as long as he didn't nag, she wouldn't try turning him into a living Ken doll.

He intended to hold to his end. At least until a better offer came up, or until he found a loophole that would help him counter-blackmail her. Her betrayal was still fresh in his mind. Probably because it happened just this morning.

As they passed the reference librarian's desk, the woman on duty glanced at them, paled, then disappeared below the counter in a hurry. Harry turned to Luna in exasperation.

"'Politely asked', you said? You've traumatized her.'

Luna only smiled. "It was almost as good as terrorizing sales attendants."

* * *

"This will never work, you know," Harry said glumly, for the fifth time since they'd left the library, then the copy/sign shop, then pulled onto the highway, crossing intersections at random.

He wasn't too worried about getting lost – Luna wouldn't let that happen unless she'd planned it.

"Of course it will," she answered, chipper as ever. "Just look at this!"

She shoved her phone under his nose and he automatically glanced down. Apparently she'd snapped a picture of the 'renovated' van before they'd left. He brought his eyes back on the road when someone honked rudely behind them.

He didn't actually need to see it. The bright green and silver logo now fixed to the side of the van nearly gave him retina burn the first time he laid eyes on it. You don't forget something like that in a hurry.

Where there was once the airbrushed name and logo of a perfectly reputable ice-cream company was now a large magnet boldly proclaiming: "The Quibbler Magazine". Above was a picture of a hand with fire engine red talon-like nails holding a bright green quill, which was basically attacking an open roll of parchment.

She'd even somehow had the number plate changed to a vanity plate saying 'KUNTS2U'. He felt rather sorry for anyone driving behind them who happened to read that.

"Your dad would have a cow if he sees his magazine's name on some random vehicle."

"He won't see anything. There were no paparazzi hidden in the bushes. You parked out of sight of any security cameras, plus you paid in cash so no-one will be able to follow our trail. And I used my new alias and made-up numbers too, so quit tormenting yourself."

To complete the ruse, Luna'd had business cards made to match, with a fake address and fake telephone and fax numbers. She'd also put the fake name 'Rita Skeeter' on every card, followed by the title 'Reporter and President of Marketing/Advertising'.

"That's the height of _false_ advertising."

"Oh shush. It serves its purpose."

"Which is…what? To make us look guiltier?"

"No, darling. And is it really too much to ask for a little faith? We'll be fine."

Harry sighed and barely managed to resist bashing his head against the steering wheel. Why didn't he listen to his basic self-preservation instinct today? It was incredibly straightforward: _Little blond girl bad. Bring plenty trouble. Abort, ABORT!_

But it was much too late now.

"What if the ice-cream company sends out a patrol and they recognize the van?"

She stared at him blankly. "Harry. It's a white mini-van. There are literally thousands of them."

"Yeah?" he asked sceptically. "And how many of them have loudspeakers?"

It's not like they'd taken the damn thing off the roof. It was bolted down and today of all days they didn't have any crowbars handy. And there were still ice-cream song tapes in the glove compartment. Not to mention the huge cartons and mini-freezers filled with ice-cream sitting innocently in the back.

Luna heaved a put-upon sigh. Catering to Harry's conscience was annoying. It was surprisingly active today...must be the oppressive heat. Maybe, since the heat sapped all his willpower and basic ability to function, he was unable to keep it trampled and stuffed down in the deepest, darkest corner of his subconscious?

It was a pity he hadn't figured out how to get rid of it completely yet. Maybe she could give him a few pointers?

"What if we end up on the local news? There could be a high-speed police chase, and then we'll be arrested for underage driving. And thievery. And your dad will flay you alive."

"No he won't. He likes it when I'm free-spirited and adventurous. If mom hadn't intervened back in my formative years I'd be a wild child," she lightly quipped.

Harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed okay talking about her mum…but he knew that it couldn't be easy for her. It wasn't easy for him even though he couldn't remember much about his parents. It was like an empty space existed inside him that was carved out just for them, and they weren't there to fill it. He could ignore the constant ache, but not completely.

On the other hand, Luna _had_ known her mum. She was the most important person to her in the world for years; not just as a mother, but as a confidant, teacher, and friend. If Harry's loss was like a hole in his heart, Luna'd probably had hers cleaved in two. It was enough to drive anyone barmy.

Sometimes he wondered which was worse: knowing someone and then losing them, or never having the chance to know them at all. In weaker moments he mourned for the missed opportunity. Luna just mourned.

It all made sense, if he thought about it: the way she would get lost in her mind, isolating herself from others and drifting through life; the way she clung to things that reminded her of her mum, like bogus horoscopes and chocolate ice-cream; the way she tried to get control over her life and gather happiness for herself...usually by taking those things away from others.

He wondered if she even noticed what she was doing. He wondered if being her friend was enough to keep her from self-destructing and taking a good chunk of the world with her.

After a couple minutes had passed in strained silence, Luna rolled her eyes and poked him in the cheek. Harry jerked. The car swerved dangerously.

"Bloody hell, woman, I'm driving here! Wherever we're going, I'd like to get there alive, so have a little more care for your safety!"

"In the long run we are all dead. John Maynard Keynes said that."

"Well, John Maynard Keynes can take that and stuff it. I intend to live forever, and so far so good. You're raving mad if you think I'll throw my life away _now_."

"Why thank you. I already knew I was insane but it's always nice to be complimented."

Harry snorted, grinning. "Quite all right. Word of advice: don't say that outside of private company. Regular sane people don't like to be reminded of our superiority."

Luna smiled. "I can just imagine their faces now when we pull up in this sweet ride."

Harry's tentative good mood evaporated so fast you'd think a Dementor had popped up right next to him.

"No-one is going to find out," she promptly assured him. "We blend in completely."

He shot her an incredulous look. "But –"

"I'm hungry. Let's have Chinese."

Harry sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"How do you even know there's a Chinese place around here?" he grumbled. "And you can't say anything about your 'Inner Eye'. It's insensitive after what you did to Trelawney."

The Psychic Fair had brought along all sorts of 'seers', 'soothsayers' and mystics. There had been a funfair, a theatre and even a fireworks display. Unfortunately, it never did recover from what the twins and Luna did. And neither did that fraud, Sibyl Trelawney. The poor soused coot.

Luna shook her head. "No, I've got directions for that too. Libraries are really helpful!"

Harry snorted. Leave it to Luna to abuse a building full of books, of all things.

* * *

Somehow, despite knowing that Luna had ulterior motives, Harry was still caught off guard when they reached their destination.

"...Luna?"

"Hmm?"

"What is this madness?"

She looked at him as if he was the odd one. "It's the annual Lord of the Rings Convention, Harry. Don't you read signs at all?"

They both glanced to the massive, unnecessarily colourful banner above their heads before their gazes were drawn back to the riot all around them. Disregarding the strange sounds coming from inside the building and the befuddling conversations filled with weird double-meaning, just the costumes alone were creepy enough. It was like stepping into another dimension.

It was almost like that one Valentine's eve at Hogwarts in second year. Everyone went to sleep as normal and woke up to find that the pretty-boy idiot, Professor Lockhart, had turned the place into a fucked-up love nest.

Harry shuddered and looked around warily. No, there was a distinct lack of pink confetti and hairy cupids. Thank Merlin. He shook his head to dispel the memories and cleared his throat.

"As a matter of fact, yes I do read signs. Most of the time. Sometimes I just choose to ignore them – I mean, come on, why would you tell me the floor's been waxed or the paint's wet if you didn't want me to test it out? But what I really mean is: why did you bring me here?"

Luna sighed. "I should think that was obvious. You're rather slow on the uptake today, aren't you?"

Harry's lips parted in abject terror as realization hit. He glanced at the door, at Luna, at a group of people squealing over a life-size golem attempting to attack them, then squeaked and made a mad dash for the exit.

Unfortunately for him, Luna was always two steps ahead.

He was three feet away from the door when two redheads simultaneously stepped in front of it from either side, blocking his escape.

"You shall not pass!" they said together eerily.

In a blink, they'd grabbed him by both arms and marched him into a side room that held chairs, cardboard boxes, a floor-to-ceiling mirror and a massive costume rack. He stumbled as he was pushed into the middle of the room.

He flinched as the door shut with a final-sounding click. He spun around to face the Weasley twins, crossing his arms.

"This coup will not go unpunished," he growled, glaring heatedly at them.

"Harry, you wound me," the closest one declared, slinging an arm around his neck. "We only want what's best for you."

"Yes Harry, I am deeply hurt," the other said, wiping away fake tears. "Don't you know our actions stem from the deep, convoluted love we have for pranking you?"

Harry hung his head. "Why am I friends with you again?"

The twins looked at each other and shrugged.

"Well, we do bring excitement into your life."

"But it's all right if you just use us for target practice."

While Harry was processing that, Luna's voice floated out from the bowels of the clothing rack, smug in a way that set Harry on edge.

"Did you really think I'd let you go now, Harry Potter? I already anticipated your escape and made preparations for it."

Harry's teeth gnashed. "So this is what we've come to? What happened to your 'unwavering loyalty'?"

"Aw, lighten up Harry," twin one said, clapping him hard on the back.

"You really haven't been yourself lately," his brother added. "We're just helping Luna on her mission to cheer you up."

"You should be grateful," Luna called out. "I _was_ going to take you on a three-day shopping marathon, but they bribed me out of it."

All three boys shuddered.

"Ok, I guess it could be worse," Harry admitted.

"Yeah, we really couldn't let you become Imperio'd by her evil shopaholic powers."

"Especially as it means you owe us a Life Debt now."

Harry's protest was cut off by the loud flapping and rustling sounds of clothes being pulled aside. They turned to the rack just in time to see Luna emerge dramatically from deep in its confines and into the sunlight.

The twins gave loud cries and shrunk back.

"Oh, the horror!"

"I'm melting! Meeeeltiiiiing!"

"It's the attack of the Twilight!"

"Shield your eyes, brother! This too shall pass!"

Harry snickered. Luna rolled her eyes and huffed, arms akimbo.

"It's _just_ a dress, you nitwits."

"My scorched retinas beg to differ," twin one griped.

Twin two – probably Fred – peeked out from between his fingers.

"Can you turn it off?"

"Don't be silly, George."

"I'm not George, I'm Fred."

"You're never Fred after eleven on weekends," she pointed out.

He paused and tugged his twin's hand from his eyes, pulling it over to inspect his empty wrist.

"Hey Harry, what time is it? Fred's watch is broken."

"It's not! Obviously the time is skin past bone!"

Harry snorted. "It's twenty minutes to twelve."

"Well, what do you know, she's right," Fred – now George – said admiringly.

"Of course I'm right. I'm always right except for the rare times I'm wrong," Luna said, absently tucking away loose strands of blonde hair.

George – now Fred – frowned. "But how did you find out? Our system is supposed to be incomprehensible to everyone else."

"Did Harry teach you how to read our body language?"

"I did no such thing," Harry staunchly defended. "But if I did I wouldn't tell you either."

"You're beginning to contradict yourself. It's really too confusing. I think you need saner friends."

"Of course, sanity is just a myth that the world has bought into –"

"– so you'll probably be better off sticking with the people you know."

"And you call _me_ confusing," Harry muttered sullenly. "Anyway, I didn't teach her how to crack your madman code. It's just that her twisted logic allows her to understand yours."

"Oh damn," said George – or Fred if he wanted to get technical. "We forgot that Luna doesn't follow the set rules of the universe."

His twin slapped a hand to his forehead. "I knew there was something we didn't account for."

"Well, it's not like I'm about to tell everyone about it, is it?" Luna said.

The twins eyed her guardedly.

"I don't know; is it?" Fred-or-George asked.

Luna smiled slowly. "That all depends on how far you're willing to go to keep your secrets."

As the twins' faces paled, Harry began to smirk. Misery loves company, after all.

* * *

Despite his protests, Luna and the twins had manhandled him into an itchy forest-themed costume. The only thing he liked about it was the fact that it showed off his spectacular legs.

Currently, he was leaning against the wall outside their improvised dressing room, waiting for Luna to be finished with Fred and George. Harry scowled, crossing his arms. Honestly, did a pair of healthy teenagers really need help getting dressed? Or were the three of them secreted away in some hidden alcove, taping him as he stood uncomfortably in the open being leered at?

It wouldn't be the first time.

Harry's dark thoughts were interrupted by a loud squeal of adoration. Looking down, Harry raised an eyebrow at the two blushing girls standing before him, dressed in robes of a light, floating material.

"May I help you?" he questioned. The one with the curly blonde hair actually swooned at the sound of his voice. Harry blinked, startled.

"Oh, my – uh – you – accent mmm…" her friend, who was of some sort of Indian descent, slapped a hand over her mouth, even as she stared at Harry admiringly.

"What my linguistically-challenged friend means, is that you wear that costume well," she explained. "Much better than Elijah Wood. And, uh, your accent is really sexy."

A smirk pulled at the edges of Harry's lips.

"You do realize that to me, you're the ones with the accent?"

"Yeah, but I might as well be tone-deaf," she said, lips twitching. "What's your name?"

"Isn't it more polite to state your own name first?" he quipped lightly.

"Fine then. I'm Parvati Patil, and this is my best friend –"

"Lavender," the blonde said breathily, shaking the other girl's hand off and extending her own to shake. "Lavender Brown."

Harry took her hand and brushed his lips against her knuckles. She squeaked faintly. Harry's smirk broadened to a grin.

"Potter, Harry Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lavender, Parvati…may I call you by your first names?"

"You may," the brunette said with affected gravity. "But only if you buy us lunch."

"You American women are so forward," he teased.

Parvati smiled impishly, her eyes twinkling. "If I said you had a nice body, would you hold it against me?"

Lavender gasped. "Pav!"

"What? He was daring me with his eyes!"

"So that means you'll practically throw yourself at a stranger?"

Harry laughed. "Ladies, ladies, calm down. It's fine. Let me take you to lunch. You'll get to know me so I won't be a stranger anymore, and I'll have the company of two lovely women. Everyone wins."

"Well, I don't know…" Parvati tapped her lips, pretending to consider it. "Lav _does_ have a point."

"I swear I won't do anything you don't want me to."

"I think we'll need more incentive than the promise of a good lay."

Lavender moaned, mortified on behalf of her friend. Harry chuckled.

"Fine. I'll buy you lunch, and then you can walk around showing me off to all the other girls. That's acceptable, right Lavender?"

The blonde flushed prettily. "Well, all right. How can we refuse an offer like that?"

Harry smiled at her warmly. "Exactly. You know, you're really good for my ego. You may not be the Ring, but can I still call you my precious?"

Lavender dimpled at him, biting her lip coyly. "You can call me whatever you like as long as you treat me right."

Parvati pursed her lips. "And you call _me_ slutty?"

Lavender swatted at her blindly, refusing to break contact with Harry's dreamy green eyes.

"Then we'll start with lunch, and take it from there," his sexy molten voice flowed over her. She blinked and frowned.

"Slowly, very slowly," he quickly amended.

"No, that's just heartbreaking," the blonde disagreed. "I have very detailed plans involving you. But let's just go to lunch and let them unfold naturally."

At her words Harry felt a strange mixture of admiration, fear and excitement. Parvati rubbed her hands together, grinning widely.

"Awesome," she chirped, looping an arm through Lavender's. "We'll be setting up our merchandise in the tent outside all morning. Meet us at the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. And don't let the atmosphere scare you off – their curry is to _die_ for. Now, if you'll excuse us..."

"Bye-bye!" Lavender parroted, waggling her fingers in that cute little wave girls had as her friend carted her off.

"If you make us wait we're ordering the most expensive things on the menu!" Parvati threw over her shoulder. Harry laughed.

"I'll be there," he called back.

He watched them until they were out of sight, grinning as they put their heads close together and gossiped – obviously about him. Oh yeah, he still had it. Getting over his slump would be a breeze. Luna's devious plan might not be so bad after all.

Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

"Hello again, Harry," she smiled in that vague way that meant she was really cackling inside. She'd changed into thigh-high leather boots, breaches, an elaborately embroidered tunic, and a long platinum-blond wig. With a beard.

"Luna. Traitors," he added as Fred and George sidled up on either side of him from behind.

"Hello, Fearless Leader!" the first one said, beaming at him. "I see you've taken our advice to heart."

His twin nodded, snaking an arm around Harry's shoulders and dragging him closer like they were buddies. "Who're your new friends?"

Harry scowled, turning to them. "None of your business…and what the hell are you _wearing_?"

"Oh, this old thing?" the twin to his left said faux-modestly, lifting the hem of his thick robe. "It's part of our role as Gandalf impersonators."

Twin two stroked his long white beard thoughtfully. "Very authentic, isn't it?"

Harry snickered. "You look like demented versions of Headmaster Dumbledore."

The twins were absolutely delighted. "Why thank you!"

"All right, enough chit-chat," Luna interjected sternly. "You have a job to do."

The redheads sighed gustily. Harry was released as twin two went to stand next to his brother.

"Well, Harry? Aren't you coming?" Luna tapped her foot impatiently.

Harry sighed, pushing himself off the wall.

"After you," he said, bowing mockingly and sweeping his arm out.

Luna smiled, satisfied. "Very good. I have trained you well."

Harry rolled his eyes and matched her fast pace, the twins trailing after them.

* * *

End...for now.


	3. Chapter 3

A/n: Warnings for the general nature of the 'Unspeakables' – as everything else in this fanfiction universe, they are not the ones you're used to. It's more like a club thing, working on the premise that Hogwarts requires students to join one in order to complete their curriculum.

So Harry used to be part of the Aurors, then there are Unspeakables, Healers, etc. These would give students the basis and principles they would need in their chosen fields/careers. Doesn't it just reek of Dumbledoreish optimism?

Warnings for some language and slashiness...and an extra at the bottom that warrants the increased rating. :D

Reviews would be awesome and encourage me to finish the other omakes I have.

The Slytherin Inquisition (or, How The Terrible Twins Met Their Match): Part 1

* * *

By half past two, Ron was completely sick of the airport.

At this time of day, there was still a thick crowd of people swarming around the place, using up all the oxygen and making so much noise he just wanted to scream. It would definitely be one of those totally dramatic and girly screams of frustration. They'd been waiting here for _days_.

His stomach rumbled in agreement and flopped over limply.

The four of them sat on an uncomfortable airport bench, watching for anyone who matched the description of their charges. Actually, as usual Ron was the one forced to be look-out since he was tallest while everybody else did their own thing. If Fred and George were here the three of them could've started a support group, something like 'The Society for Victims of Friendly Extortionism'.

Harry and Luna were having a heated discussion about some sort of creature. Ron still didn't understand when, how or why Harry began to understand her Loony Super Secret CodeTM. It was all gibberish to him.

He could only conclude that she'd planted one of her creatures into Harry's brain and was now controlling his every action through a hive mind.

Well, either that or all their misadventures together helped them form a deep bond that went beyond normal human boundaries. It was hard to tell which was more horrifying.

So, as a cynical teenager faced with the choice of two great evils...Ron chose both. Harry was obviously lost to them forever.

Anyone could see, by the light of unholy glee that popped up in Harry's green eyes when he talked with _her_, that his soul had already been torched and devoured.

All they could do now was start preparing for the funeral of his best friend's saneness.

Ron shivered, rubbing warmth back into his arms and glancing nervously at the pair. _He'd_ never interact with Luna that much on a regular basis – not even if you paid him a thousand bucks and threw in a human buffer on the side.

And no, he wasn't being an asshole. Not like the kids at school who snubbed Luna because she was a special brand of weird. The simple truth was, no matter how nice Luna looked or acted she was still majorly creepy. Like Santa Claus.

And she scared him shitless sometimes.

Currently, Hermione sat slumped between him and the blonde cure to sanity, looking like she wanted to be anywhere else but there.

"I can't believe how late you made us," she grumbled at him.

"Sorry," Ron said yet again. "I'm really, truly, deeply sorry I forgot and slept in late."

"How could you forget? I've been reminding you all week! I stuck up a million orange post-its! I marked the date on the calendar in radioactive pink! I even set your alarm!" she huffed, fingers clenching. Ron gulped.

Hermione went on and on, with Ron muttering apologies that didn't even register. The one-sided argument even interrupted their friends' debate, but Hermione either didn't notice or didn't care. Harry glanced warily at them from the corner of his eyes while Luna outright stared.

Ron jiggled his leg, unnerved. Her wide blue eyes seemed to see right through him, like he was an underdressed patient strapped to a bed and she was the demon-possessed nurse holding the scalpel. She really needed to stop doing that.

And _he_ really needed to stop hanging out with the twins playing creepy video games. Their Silent Hill and Left 4 Dead lingo was slowly rubbing off on him. Next he'd start sprouting off about Witches and Boomers and Inferi, and people would look at him weird...weirder than usual.

This situation was so unfair. He was being double-tagged by the scariest women he'd ever known (not counting his mom) and Harry wasn't doing anything to stop it. Ron's head was about to explode under the weight of all this pressure, spewing bloody chunks everywhere.

What did he ever do to deserve this? Was it revenge for the things he said about S.P.E.W.? Punishment for eating the last three slices of Devil's Food Cake? Or simple female sadism?

Mercifully, the girls were distracted a minute later when Harry's phone rang. Harry excused himself to answer it.

"Their original flight was cancelled, apparently," he said as he rejoined them, stashing his phone away. He looked down at them sheepishly. "Sorry, I missed Bulstrode's call somehow. She, Black, Creevy and Greengrass managed to get in last night, so there's only Zabini and the other Greengrass sister left. They'll be here in a couple of hours. You'll take them to their hotel?"

"Fine, whatever," said Hermione, disgruntled. "I just don't like how behind schedule we are. What if their flight had come in already? We would have left a bad impression."

"Don't worry, I'm sure they'll be here soon," said Ron, forcing his voice to sound irrationally optimistic.

"Yes, well, I hope so." There was a dark tone in Hermione's voice. Ron knew exactly what it meant. It meant _'If you'd listened to me before we could have avoided all this stress'_. It meant _'This better turn out like you say it will'_. It meant _'If anything goes wrong I'm blaming __**you**__'_.

"So," he squeaked out. "Do you...want some coffee? Or anything in the shops?"

"Actually, I just realized I left my make-up bag behind," Luna's brows knitted slightly. Her lips pulled into a pout. "So annoying. Where was my mind this morning?"

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "I told you not to let it wander...now you've probably lost it completely."

Nervously, Ron eyed the growing tick on Hermione's forehead. She was definitely nearing boiling point.

"Right!" he said loudly, cutting off Luna's retort. "Project Make-up! Do you need us to help you choose?"

Luna stood, linking her arm through Harry's and tugging him to face the direction of the department stores – a sure sign that he was paying.

"I don't have to choose," she said as they began to walk off. "I usually have the same thing. We'll be in and out in a jiffy. Although I don't know what I'll do if they don't have Chanel..."

"Whatever it is, I bet they won't like it," Ron muttered.

"Ronald!" Hermione hissed, elbowing him in the side.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?"

"Be nice," she reprimanded him. "I don't want a confrontation in the middle of the freaking airport. In case you didn't notice, you're on thin ice with me already."

Ron gulped, terrified by her anger but still admiring the way it made her cheeks flush and her eyes blaze. Even the way her hair almost seemed to puff up and whip around in rage was beautiful. Like a demented banshee...or a lioness about to charge him.

He smiled hesitantly, rubbing his neck.

"Sorry. I'll be on my best behaviour from now on. Honorary Marauder's Honour." He crossed his heart.

Hermione sniffed, backing down.

"Strangely enough, that doesn't sound very reassuring," she thought out loud, lips pursed.

Ron really wished she wouldn't make that face. It was doing funny things to his insides.

He cleared his throat, standing and courteously holding out an elbow. "M'lady? May I have the pleasure of escorting you to the department store, where we will point and laugh at Harry when Luna forces him to try on lipstick?"

Hermione tutted at him, but her lips curled reluctantly. She took his elbow, sticking her nose in the air like the know-it-all snob some people thought she was. Hell, even he'd fallen for the act before.

"Well, I _suppose_ we should stop Luna before she gives the workers an inferiority complex. Lead the way, good sir."

* * *

After about forty minutes of trailing their friends around (snickering every time Luna forced Harry to humiliate himself; helping the salespeople pick up the shattered pieces of their dignity; and getting dragged into an intense argument over designers that resulted in an impromptu dance-off on the escalators, and them leading the security guards in a merry chase all over the mall) Luna was finally satisfied.

She started for the airport exit with Harry in tow. The poor bugger was practically buried under shopping bags.

Aside from the unplanned purchases, the blonde's brand-new make-up bag held her favourite mascara and Chanel products: foundation, lip gloss and nail polish; as well as EOS Honeysuckle Honeydew hand lotion and lip balm, a roll of hair ties, a pack of Trident and numerous little tubes of BB Creams.

Ron had no idea what any one female needed with all that face junk, but he supposed she was doing it for a good reason (disguising her innate evilness behind a cute bunny-faced mask until it was time to strike. Cue evil laugh).

Hermione obviously agreed with the excessive buying part. She held a square, pink-accented glass bottle of Jo Malone cologne in one hand, alternately sniffing at it and looking at Luna askance.

"Do you even know if this is ozone-safe?" she scolded the younger girl. "And it says here that it's blended from seven different types of rose. _Seven!_ Are you seriously endorsing this blatant disregard for the environment?"

Luna scoffed, flipping hair over her shoulder.

"Of course I care, I _love_ roses. That's why I bought it. It smells heavenly. And the bottle was so pretty, sparkling like liquid temptation under the artificial light."

Hermione's eye was twitching. Luna didn't seem to notice, as her eyes were firmly fixed to a point somewhere in the middle distance.

"Besides," she added dreamily, "a huge donation of sales goes towards the Breast Cancer Research Foundation. That's important and humanitarian, isn't it? Aren't you proud of me?"

She looked up at Hermione, expecting to see her features aglow with pure, unadulterated joy. But aglow they were not. In fact, Hermione was scowling.

She sniffed, gingerly slipping the cologne back into Luna's bag. "Well, I would be...if it weren't for everything else you've conned out of Harry."

Said boy grunted under the crushing weight of the shopping bags. Just from first glance, Ron could see five different designer names: Gucci, Gaultier Paris, Jimmy Choo, Prada and Dior. Poor Harry. Poor Harry's bank account.

Well, at least he hadn't made the mistake of feeding her as well. His pocket would never recover from the double assault.

Ron grabbed a couple of bags on the pile that were wobbling dangerously. Harry nodded thanks and they shared a grimace of commiseration. _Women_.

Luna looked guilty for a moment, before the alien emotion faded away into the sunshine of the parking lot. She proceeded to skip up to Harry's car, whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like 'When You're Evil'.

They loaded up the backseat with her precious cargo while she called shotgun, loudly clamouring for ice-cream. Ron and Hermione gave Harry twin looks of pity, but he just sighed and shook his head, amused.

"I'll see you guys later," he said, sliding into the driver's seat.

"We'll text you when we're done at the hotel," promised Hermione. "And maybe you could try yogurt or sherbet this time, see if it helps with her hyperactivity."

Ron snorted. "Or maybe you could try injecting blood into her caffeine system."

Harry laughed, propping an arm on the steering wheel. They all ignored the girl bouncing around hard enough to make the car rock, noisily chanting "I scream, you scream, we all scream for ICE-CREAM!"

"How crazy do you think I am?" Harry asked rhetorically. "I'm not coming within ten feet of her with any pointy objects. She's sneaky and dangerous."

"She's _deranged_," Ron corrected. "Cackling and staring off into space half the time."

"She's just sugar-sensitive," Hermione defended. "That's why she runs around like an ADD child the other half of the time."

"She's right here listening to you," said Luna as her head popped up over Harry's shoulder. She didn't look offended; rather delighted that she was the centre of attention.

"Hi. We'd almost forgotten you were there, you were being so inconspicuous," Harry said sarcastically. Ron waved, grinning.

Luna gave a mock sigh. "In the words of Oscar Wilde: 'It is perfectly monstrous the way people go about, nowadays, saying things against one behind one's back that are absolutely and entirely true. A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal'."

"Yes, but according to him 'a true friend stabs you in the front'," Harry quoted back, smirking. "So get used to us talking like this around you. Especially when you get tired of the dignity and splendour of adulthood and start behaving like a child."

"Adults are just big kids with money," she interrupted defiantly.

"Wilde also said: 'there is only one thing in life worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about'," Harry continued, amused. "Don't pretend you're not preening."

"'All the same, I hope you have not been leading a double life, pretending to be wicked and really being good all the time. That would be hypocrisy.'" Hermione chipped in, eyes glinting with intellectual delight. Nothing like a quote-off to get her blood pumping, Ron thought in fond amusement.

"'It is absurd to divide people into good and bad," the blonde refuted. "People are either charming or tedious.'"

"'If you pretend to be good, the world takes you very seriously," said Harry gravely. "If you pretend to be bad, it doesn't. Such is the astounding stupidity of optimism.'"

"'The basis of optimism is sheer terror,'" Ron casually interjected. When the others looked at him in surprise he just shrugged. "So what, I can't be charming _and_ intellectual?"

Harry and Hermione snickered. Luna's lips curled into a perfect pink Chanel-coated smile.

"Besides," Ron added. "We've already established that she was born from the core of evil."

Luna beamed.

"'It _is_ better to be beautiful than to be good,'" she purred, twirling a strand of blond hair around her finger.

"'But it is better to be good than to be ugly,'" completed Harry.

"Well that's why I love spending your money, Harry," she said with an innocent smile. "Beautification is a long and expensive process."

"So much of it?" he asked, shaking his head. "It's more like you're pulverizing my metaphoric stacks of gold than maxing out my credit cards."

"'Moderation is a fatal thing," she solemnly quoted. "Nothing succeeds like excess.'"

"'It is better to have a permanent income than to be fascinating,'" shot Hermione, and frowned disapprovingly.

"'Ah, well, then I suppose I shall have to die beyond my means,'" came Luna's serene answer. "Although it's rather unfair that I can't have all the pretty things I want...after all, 'I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.'"

"'Life is never fair," Ron put in, eyebrows raised in irony, "and perhaps it is a good thing for most of us that it is not.'"

"True," Harry said, snorting. "And 'there are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.'"

"Besides," Hermione began, in the faux-kind voice of someone about to clobber the nail on its head. "'Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.'"

Luna pouted.

"Now I am depressed. Thanks a lot, guys," she skulked back to her seat, crossing her arms sulkily. "Get me my ice-cream, Fearless Leader, before I teach you the meaning of Fear."

Harry snickered, starting up the engine. He nodded to Ron and Hermione as they backed away.

"Demanding little thing, isn't she. Well mates, I'm off on another ice-cream hunt."

"Later, dude. Don't let the nargles consume your soul."

"Really, Ronald?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Bye Harry."

The car pulled out of the parking lot, leaving Ron and Hermione in a sudden silence. The atmosphere suddenly felt kind of empty with one-third of their Golden Trio (and his Right Hand of Terror) gone.

"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go," he muttered, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"Women are to be loved, not understood."

Ron smiled faintly at her tart tone. Luna...she wasn't really that bad when Harry had her under control, old habits just die hard. And he'd been practicing 'Constant Vigilance' around her since elementary school for a damn good reason. Harry just accepted it – probably the twins had told him about _that__time in the forest_ – and tried to ease the friction.

Luna saw Ron's attitude as he meant it: as his way of coming to terms with befriending the human-shaped monster that traumatized him in his tender years of development. She took his jibes as terms of endearment and gave as good as she got.

But Hermione didn't always see it that way. Her sensibilities were so delicate sometimes that she'd get offended on behalf of other people. Or animals. Or ecosystems.

Right now she was staring in the direction where the car had disappeared, her eyebrows drawn and her mouth pulled into a frown.

"You really don't like Luna, do you?"

Ron blinked. "I do like her! Sort of. If you squint she's more like a human than a soulless android."

"So you don't," she said, still refusing to look at him. "You've never liked her. Even after all the times your parents let you guys hang out together."

Ron winced, tensing.

No matter what anyone said, he wasn't _totally_ oblivious. He could tell when someone honestly disliked something, even if he couldn't tell you _why_. He knew Hermione wasn't always comfortable with borderline-insulting her friends. Or witnessing anyone being 'ungrateful' for having good friends.

She'd admitted that she'd never had any close friends before meeting him and Harry; and as an only child she was completely unfamiliar with the concept of friendly teasing/sibling rivalry.

He also knew it hurt Hermione when she was left out of the loop. But he'd still begged, threatened and bribed everyone who knew about _that time in the forest_ not to tell her about it, because it would be totally unfair if she didn't have any girl friends because of him. He didn't want _that time in the forest_ to poison her impression of Luna. She needed to make her own judgements.

That, and he'd been a real sissy back then. He really didn't want the Ghost of Sissiness to ruin everything now. If she knew about what really happened Ron wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of dating her.

"I just...I don't know," he shrugged, trying not to look like he was blowing her off, 'cause he wasn't. "She's ok in small doses. Or when other people are around. I guess it's because I know what she's capable of –"

"– and no-one wants to tell me what that is, why you dislike her so much," Hermione pointed out, frown deepening. Ron cringed a little. "So maybe she wasn't the loveliest kid in the world, but _so what_? That was years ago."

She folded her arms and glared. Ron looked away, hunching his shoulders. "Are you really going to hold it against her? You're not satisfied unless your friends live up to some impossible expectation of – of normalcy?"

Ron grimaced. Crap. This conversation was heading into dangerous territory.

Right now he had to choose his words right or she might take it the wrong way, like friendship was something you had to sacrifice your own personality for.

None of them was what you'd call 'normal', since normalcy was an urban myth and all. But Hermione had been bullied because of her intelligence all through childhood. She wasn't like anyone else, and she was painfully awkward about it.

Now that she had friends she was afraid of doing or saying something so Unforgivable that they'd turn their backs on her, leaving her alone again.

Which was ridiculous. She really thought too much. She was beating herself up about friendship faux pas, and worrying so much that she couldn't enjoy the benefits of that friendship.

So, how to fix this and not shove his foot in his mouth?

"You know it's not like that," said Ron carefully, looking at a distant rock. "It's not who she is...or what she's like, why we can't be BFFs, or whatever. We just, we have a past."

Seconds after that flew out of his mouth, Ron realised exactly how it sounded. At Hermione's sharp glance, his eyes widened and he rushed to say, "Not that kind of past! There's just a lot of crap – uh, issues, that me and Luna –"

"Luna and I," she corrected automatically.

"– that Luna and I have to work through before we get to the 'warm and cuddly' stage. Figuratively. Speaking in strictly platonic terms."

Hermione sighed.

"Ron, that's just how she is. Luna's my friend, and Harry's friend, and the twins' friend. That means she's your friend too, like it or not. She's special and unique and you'll just have to get over yourself."

"And I will," said Ron doggedly. "Slowly."

"You're too sensitive!" retorted Hermione, and Ron literally choked on his own spit. Him? _He_ was the sensitive one? "She doesn't mean any harm. Not really."

"...sure," he wheezed out, thumping his chest. "But her...unique _specialness_ will take a while to get used to, you know?"

Hermione eyed him suspiciously, then sighed and let it go. "So..."

"Sooo...She's not that bad, I guess."

"And...?"

"And I should give her a chance?"

"Just remember next time you start describing her 'evilness'. I won't tell you to stop poking fun because she told me, and I quote, 'it makes me feel alive'. But she's still human, Ron. And she's younger than us, so be a little nicer."

"Right. I'll be a little nicer," Ron echoed doubtfully, and paused.

Then tacked on, "Because zombies have rights too" and took her punch on the arm with good grace.

They stared off into the distance during the uncomfortable silence that followed. It was easier than facing each other.

Obviously he and Hermione couldn't agree about the delightfully vague and loopy Lovegood girl. Sure she was pretty. Sure, she could charm your socks off. But he wondered if he was the only one who saw underneath the..._blondeness_ to the sharp eyes always looking for weak spots in everything and everybody.

Everyone adored her, but did anyone realize how she was spinning them deeper and deeper into her web of manipulation? They were like pieces in a game of chess to her.

Hermione just thought she was 'interesting', 'unconventional', 'artistic' and 'occasionally annoying with all her mysticism. Honestly! There's no such thing as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack'. She hadn't known Luna for as long as Ron and the twins so, Ron thought, she just didn't see all the girl's worst qualities.

Luna treated Hermione like a child treated one of its favourite toys. Hermione found her possessiveness flattering because she'd never really had a female friend before. Whenever Luna would latch on to her arm whining "Mine!" she would laugh and pat her on the head.

It was disturbing. It was fascinating. It was like watching a cobra toying with a mouse, and the mouse too deeply hypnotised to notice the danger.

Ron was honestly scared for her. Look what prolonged contact with the blond had done to Harry; how much worse would it be for Hermione, who was pitifully naive to Luna's warped nature?

Ron wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, clearing his throat. He guessed it was up to him to keep her on the straight and narrow...so to speak. It's not like he was a saint or anything.

"Hermione?" he started tentatively. She blinked and looked up at him.

"Hmm?"

Ron stepped towards her and buried his hands in his pockets. "Look, I–I don't want you to keep being mad at me, so. . . how about a late lunch at that restaurant you wanted to try? We can stop by Flourish and Blotts, too, if you want." An amused grin spread across his freckled face.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Ronald Bilius Weasley. Are you bribing me?"

Ron started chortling and Hermione grinned. Suddenly, she found that his laughter wasn't as irritating as before, when he was poking fun at Luna. In fact, she rather liked it. It made him seem...charming.

She looked down at her sneakers, willing the colour out of her cheeks. Ron coughed and finally got a hold of himself.

"No, not exactly," he said, giving a loose shrug. "My budget can only cover lunch, but we can still browse around." It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "You can live with that, can't you?"

"You're overestimating me, Ron," said Hermione, plucking invisible lint off her powder-blue t-shirt. "Do you know how much I read in a week? But, sure, I can do lunch. It's my pleasure."

She flushed at how eager she sounded, but Ron just grinned dopily, his blue eyes lighting up. She smiled at him, twined their fingers together and headed for his beat-up Ford.

* * *

The drive to the restaurant was a relatively short one, and in spite of Hermione's reluctance to let him drive after the incident with the willow tree, they only got lost once. And that was only because they took the long way 'round.

Well, Hermione would say it was unlawful trespass or something, but Ron maintained that if the man with the shotgun wanted to keep his huge field private, he'd have put up a fence or something. At least they managed to avoid the duck pond.

And besides, Hermione had screamed right along with him when that toad came out of nowhere. And in the first place she was the one who gripped onto his arm so tight that he couldn't control the steering wheel and then –

Anyway, they got to the restaurant in one piece, and that's all that mattered. For a while after the car sailed into the parking lot they just sat there in a daze, Ron's hands still gripping the wheel like his life depended on it.

When he finally managed to pry his fingers away it was like a signal that they could move again.

"Never again," Hermione swore, shooting out of her seat. Ron scrambled out after her then locked the car, which looked a little worse for wear. He patted his right buttock – good, his wallet was still in his pocket. Then he patted his left buttock to make sure that was still intact.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he cocked one eyebrow at her as she walked around to him. Usually he would cock them both, but a lucky bullet had singed the other one.

The man back in the field was a really poor shot. Even when Ron had been forced to hand over the wheel to Hermione and run around distracting the trigger-happy bastard while she found a way out the field, all he'd managed to do was _singe his eyebrow_. Come on! Even his _mom_ had better aim.

And he refused to think deeper on that.

Hermione snorted, looking wild-eyed and windblown. "Are you kidding? We're lucky to even be alive! No way are you driving us back."

She snatched the keys from his limp fingers. He reached for them but she danced away, and then they spent the next minute playing a weird sort of tag. Finally, Ron feigned to the left and when Hermione twisted to the right he grabbed her wrist, dragging her back.

She tried to kick but he quickly pressed her up against the car, blocking her in with his body. With one hand he pinned her wrists to the car above her head, while the other slid slyly down her side to settle on her hip.

They stilled, panting and flushed.

Their chests were pressed so closely together that Ron could feel every heave of her soft...lady melons. Hermione was flushed, looking awkward and defiant and just a little pleased at this new position. It was getting very warm and intimate over here in their corner of the circle.

"Caught you," Ron rasped, grinning.

"So?" she said archly, and dropped the keys...right down her shirt.

Ron gaped, unable to believe that just happened. Only Hermione's smug look snapped him out of it.

He snapped his mouth closed and gave her an amused look. "Do you really think that would stop me?"

Hermione's eyes widened, but she couldn't do more than gasp before the hand on her hip was sliding under her shirt, over the soft heated skin of her midsection...

"Ron!" she squeaked, struggling violently until he stepped away, raising his hands up in an 'I mean no harm' gesture. He was outright _laughing_ at her.

Hermione lunged for his throat, face red, but he hopped over the car's hood and stood snickering on the other side. With a cheery jingle the keys fell out from the bottom of her shirt. She stooped to pick them up.

"I feel so violated!"

"It's your own fault," Ron said, smirking unrepentantly. Then he winked. "You know you liked it."

Hermione gave him a pissed look, but it was kind of ruined by the shame and reluctant pleasure. She really hated that smug arrogant tone...and at the same time it was so...well, not attractive, but it made her want to retaliate just to wipe it out of existence. Honestly! Ron was so insufferable sometimes.

She huffed and, slipping the keys into her purse, stalked off towards the restaurant.

"Hey, wait for me!" Ron exclaimed behind her.

She caught a glance of the puffy nightmare on her head in a car window and slowed down trying to smooth it out. Ron finally caught up to her and waited like a good puppy. She glared him down until he toned down the shit-eating grin.

He jauntily walked forward the last few feet and opened the door for her, bowing and scraping and calling her 'Ma'am' as she passed through. Obviously _someone_ was in a good mood despite his near-death experience.

She rolled her eyes, heading for a free table in the back. What was it with boys and copping a feel? Honestly. Did they think her boobs held all the wonderful mysterious secrets of life or something? They were just two fleshy...things that sprouted from her chest at the start of puberty.

Sometimes she didn't even like them much. They were sensitive and freakishly soft and sometimes hurt for no reason, especially at this time of month. Generally, they just got in the way and encouraged boys to sexualize her.

And she was very aware of Ron's eyes on her behind, thank you very much.

Hermione felt her eye twitch. Again.

As soon as Ron managed to tear his eyes away he understood exactly what brought Hermione to this restaurant. It was quiet and incredibly clean. The floor-to-ceiling window panes were spotless. The white tiled floor was so clean you could see your reflection in it.

The potted plants arranged along the wall at even intervals were green and lush, the tablecloths were covered with shiny vinyl, and he could eat off the countertop if he wanted to.

After the disaster of an anniversary at that one Italian restaurant – let's just say it involved a large pot of meatballs, a rat, a bottle of vintage wine and a close call with a mental breakdown – this was practically heaven.

They settled down at a table for two with a view of the car park and started discussing the virtues of glass windows, which somehow led to discussing the rook-shaped work of art Luna's father called a house.

"Bulletproof glass! Are you kidding?" Hermione stared at him.

"I kid you not," Ron said with amusement. "And the alarm system is linked up to the local police."

"Goodness." She shook her head. "What does he need all that for?"

He shrugged. "They had a couple of intruders and art-thieves breaking in some years back. The electric fence and piranhas weren't enough to stop them."

"Does he do private tours or something?"

"Yup. It's sort of his studio-slash-showroom," Ron explained, gesturing. "All the rooms are like different displays. The private halls are for 'adult-themed' portraits, so we never went there. I remember the dining room had a lot of embroidery and marble statues, and you couldn't eat anything in the kitchen. Everything was made of wax."

He made a face. Hermione laughed at him being deprived of food.

"I wish I could see it," she said after a pause.

There was a sort of wistfulness in her voice. It made Ron feel ashamed of the way he'd behaved. Wasn't he supposed to be supporting Hermione's friendship with Luna? It really wasn't fair that he kept slighting the blonde and making things difficult, was it?

Hermione deserved to have friends she could be herself around. And maybe she would rub off on Luna just like Luna would rub off – ok, that sounded vaguely sexual and disturbing. Moving on now.

One thing was for sure: he wasn't being fair on any of them. Even himself.

"You could ask her," he suggested. "Ask Luna to show you around or...or have a sleepover or something. Her dad's always complaining about how we'll turn her into a tomboy because we 'lack vaginas'." He paused to roll his eyes while Hermione snickered. "Her room's in the Impressionism Wing – lots of cool abstract stuff. It'll be great for you girls. Female bonding and everything."

"Do you really think so, Ron?" All the questions and doubts and differences between them shone in her eyes. "Are you really ok with that?"

"Of course," said Ron, holding her gaze. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. As long as you don't forget about me – about the rest of us," he corrected, pinking. "You'll be fine. It'll be perfect."

Hermione smiled. "Ron, I –"

"Can I start you off with something to drink?" a slightly impatient voice cut in suddenly.

They both jumped and swivelled their heads around. A blonde waitress with ludicrously red lips had appeared seemingly out of thin air. She set menus in front of them and waited for their answer, pen in hand.

"Er...a soda, please?" said Ron, eyeing her with slight annoyance.

"I'll have a glass of water, thank you," added Hermione, and the waitress quickly scribbled it down on her pad, nodding.

"I'll be back in a few minutes to take your orders." Then she trotted off, hips swaying.

Hermione wondered if those high heels were practical for all the waitressing she had to do, but decided the pros knew best. She seemed quite comfortable in them after all, Hermione thought enviously.

When she turned back to Ron, he was looking down at the cover of his menu and absently drumming his long fingers against the vinyl. Taking a deep breath, Hermione placed her hand on top of his to get his attention. He looked up at her with intensely blue, questioning eyes.

"I'm sorry for the way I acted this morning," she said, lightly tracing the freckles on his hand. "Chewing you out and blaming you for my entire crappy morning wasn't fair. It really wasn't your fault, and you apologized...um, a couple of times."

"You don't sound too sure there," he teased, grinning. "Were you listening at all? Did you even notice when I got down on my knees and grovelled for your forgiveness?"

Hermione huffed, poking his arm. "Shush, you. What I'm trying to say is, I know I was a...a real twat today. And I'm sorry I took out my frustration on you. Thank you for sticking with me anyway."

"Aw, 'Mione, you know I wouldn't hold it against you. This apology is just overkill."

She scowled. "Ron! Just humour me. I want to do this properly, like a scene straight out of a clichéd romance novel."

Ron snorted, amused.

"Well, alright," he cleared his throat, affecting a horrible, nasally French accent. "Zere ez really nozing to forgive,_ chérie_. I understand ze wiles of womenfolk –"

"Oh my god, shut up," Hermione said, giggling.

"Hey, you wanted clichéd, so now we're doing clichéd," Ron stubbornly insisted. "Go on, your turn."

"Fine, but no accents," she warned. She clamped down on her laughter, but her eyes still twinkled. "That may be –"

"Wait, you're not doing it right."

"Pardon?"

"You've got to _smoulder_ with your eyes," he emphasized the word by crooking his index fingers like inverted commas.

"What are you talking about Ron?"

"You know, smoulder? As the heroine, you've got to give your clever and roguishly handsome lover _The Look_." He made a ridiculous squinty face that pulled a giggle out of her.

"Oh...like this?"

She tipped her head down, gazing coyly at him from beneath her lashes. Her straight white teeth nibbled at her bottom lip a little. When they released it, it was shiny and red and, and so _kissable_. Ron flushed; his mouth suddenly felt extremely dry.

"Uh...yeah. Exactly...like that."

The kissable lips twitched. Hermione lowered her voice and went on, "That may be, _dear heart_, but I am still terribly sorry. Will you not say you forgive me?"

"In the deepest recesses of my heart, I have already forgiven you, _sweetest flower_."

Waggling his one eyebrow Ron began leaning forward, and Hermione unconsciously leaned in as well.

"But to hear the words pour from your clever and roughish lips would be a balm to my tortured soul," she sighed theatrically.

"Then, I shall say the words a thousand times," he promised with a playful grin. "But only if it won't stop you from making it up to me."

They were so close now that their lips brushed as she breathed out her next words.

"Oh, never as long as the moon rises from the east and lightning doesn't strike twice," Hermione said with a straight face and a twinkle in her eye. "And that is the length and breadth of my deepest love for you."

"Oh my god, what are you waiting for? Kiss her already!"

Ron nearly flew out of his seat, he was so startled. Hermione stifled a screech and jerked away from him. They both swivelled around to see their waitress, face flushed and tears in her eyes.

Behind her, the eyes of everyone else in the restaurant were staring in their direction, some with leers on their faces, others merely curious.

"Well, this is awkward," Ron muttered, slumping down in his seat.

"Oh no, did I ruin the moment?" the blonde looked positively stricken.

"Ah, no, not really," Hermione said, her own eyes wide and cheeks stained red. "We were just...practicing. Yes. Weren't we, Ron?"

She kicked him under the table.

"What?" his eyes darted from Hermione to the waitress.

"I was just telling...Amy," Hermione read quickly from the blonde's nametag. "That we were practicing for our play."

"Oh, right. Yeah, we're in a play...Shakespeare. We practice for the big night whenever we can...in doors, out of doors..."

One glare from Hermione shut him up before he _really_ put his foot in it. A few snickers came from the tables closest to their out-of-the-way corner.

"Oh," Amy said, sniffing. "That was really beautiful. Almost like a real soap opera. You're going to knock their socks off."

Ron muttered something, slumping down further. His face was slowly turning a bright red that clashed horribly with his hair.

"I mean it, you were really good! I was so into it I didn't even remember where I was."

Hermione smiled tersely. "Thank you. We'd like to order now. Ronald, what would you like?"

Oh uh. He knew that tone of voice. That one meant: _I am so humiliated right now_. It meant: _Why did I let you talk me into this_? But most of all it meant _I'm going to put up an invisible barrier between us now because I don't want to talk to you_, _jerk._

Ron ordered the first thing on the menu. As Amy trotted away, he picked at a loose thread poking through a hole in the plastic. All that work being charming, and what did he have to show for it? He yanked the thread out completely, ruining the cloth. They were right back to square one with Hermione pissed at him.

And then he felt her soft hand on his. She twined their fingers together, forcing him to drop the thread and look up into her laughing eyes.

Wait, _laughing_? There was something wrong with this picture.

There was a moment of silence where neither of them even moved, and then,

"Someone should really put a bell on her," she whispered to him, smiling impishly.

Ron's face split into an answering grin. Well, what do you know? Hermione didn't seem to mind at all.

Either he'd read Hermione's whole tone wrong, or Harry and his blonde sidekick's luck gods were smiling on him today. Personally, he was leaning on the luck god theory. He'd have to give them an appropriate thank-you sacrifice later.

But nothing too bloody, or anything with a resemblance to chicken. He couldn't even eat chicken anymore – much less touch a live one – without remembering _that time in the forest_...so no matter how many were running around his mom's backyard the luck gods better be satisfied with Honeydukes Chocolate.

* * *

As soon as Ron and Hermione walked into the airport they were spotted by the guards again and had to make a run for it. At the food court, Ron finally stopped to catch his breath, doubled over with his hands on his knees.

"Whoa, that was close," he panted. There was no answer. "Hermione?"

Silence.

Ron straightened up and looked around, but even with his height advantage he couldn't see her anywhere in the crowd. He frowned and was about to go searching for her when someone poked him in the back.

He spun around – and came face to face with a girl almost as tall as him, with short peroxide-blonde hair gelled into spikes and a face full of piercings. She was wearing a black tank top that showed off her entire mid-riff and plaid baggy pants, with a jacket tied around her waist and a messenger bag slung over her shoulder.

Leaning on the wall next to her carrying his own bag was an equally tall, dark-skinned boy with eyes heavily outlined in kohl. Four bulky suitcases stood next to him.

"Hey, are you the Weasley bloke?" the blonde asked. Her voice was surprisingly husky. Ron caught a glimpse of a silver tongue piercing.

"Uh, that depends," he said cautiously. "Who's asking?"

Her companion smirked at him, eyeing him up and down leisurely. Ron wasn't sure he liked that look. Or if a shirt _that_ tight and _that_ pink was even legal.

"What a welcoming committee. Six foot even, freckles, criminally red hair," the unnamed boy drawled silkily. He had a suspicious lisp. "I'd say he's our guy."

"I am not _your_ guy," Ron said, very firm on that point.

"That can be rectified," he smoothly offered. Ron shook his head vigorously. "Are you sure, darling?"

The blonde rolled her eyes, sticking out her hand. "I'm Tori Greengrass, and this is Blaise Zabini. Ignore him when he gets like this, he's a fucking nympho. We're from the Unspeakable squad. Mills told you to pick us up, didn't she?"

Ron eyed them a little more closely. If he squinted and titled his head a little, these two _sort of_ resembled the description of the pair they had to pick up. They were just a little more...flamboyant than he was expecting.

"Yeah," he answered slowly. "Harry told us your flight was cancelled. So we're taking you to the hotel."

"'We'?" Zabini questioned, quirking an eyebrow. "Do you have another hunk of redheaded man-meat tucked away somewhere?"

Ron squawked, his face blazing. "What?"

"Well, darling, I've been waiting so long now. Won't you reward me?" Zabini outright leered. Tori snickered, blue eyes glittering wickedly.

This was the point at which Hermione pushed through the crowd, stumbling into their little oasis of sexual discomfort.

"Ron!" she called out, relieved.

"Good God, woman!" Zabini exclaimed. "What's that beast doing to your head?"

Tori shoved her hand into her bag and pulled out a huge can of bug spray, brandishing it through the air. Hermione squealed as she was enveloped in a poisonous cloud.

"Ahh! Stop it!" she waved her arms wildly to disperse it.

"Hey, stop!" Ron pulled the can out of Tori's hands. The girl pouted – which looked ridiculous on a female badass.

Hermione doubled over, coughing violently. Her eyes were leaking something awful.

"Why'd you stop her?" demanded Zabini, dark eyes wide. "The horribly bushy creature is feasting on her scalp!"

"That's just her hair," Ron said tiredly. "It does that."

"That's unfortunate," Tori muttered sympathetically, patting Hermione on the back.

"She's my...partner," the redhead explained.

"Oh?" Zabini asked, brows raised. "You know this bird, darling?"

"You – evil," Hermione wheezed, standing up straight so she could glare at Zabini through red eyes. Scary. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Someone who knows a good hairdresser," Zabini snorted. He thrust a manicured hand through his dark, glossy crop, then turned it over to examine his nails. Hermione made a hoarse sound of outrage. He ignored her. The blonde girl offered her a mint and a bottle of mineral water.

"As I was telling your _partner _here, we got caught up at the duty-free shop," he continued, fondly patting his carrier bag. "Stocking up on cigarettes and booze."

There was a sharp silence. Hermione's red eyes narrowed. Horrified, Ron watched as her jaw began to tighten.

"Joke!" Zabini exclaimed and nudged Tori, who began to giggle.

"Oh," said Hermione, disconcerted. She blinked away the last of her tears. "Well, of course you wouldn't –"

"Actually, it was condoms, for the inevitable orgies." Zabini nodded seriously. Then his eyes twinkled devilishly. "Joke!"

Ron opened his mouth and closed it again. He was too scared to look at Hermione. Tori chortled, pulling a pack of Starbursts from her scruffy cargo pants and offering it to them. Ron cautiously took one when she raised her pierced eyebrows at him. Hermione stiffly declined.

Zabini snatched two and popped them in his mouth, ignoring her scowl.

"So you're stuck driving us to our hotel," Zabini continued blithely, chewing. "You should know I'm no good with cars. Or trains. Or planes – the flight here was bloody awful. I even had to turn down the sexy flight attendant's invitation to the Mile High Club."

Tori nodded along. "You should see what he's like on the Hogwarts Express. Anyway, since we'll be in a moving vehicle, Mills and Potter warned us to sit quietly – in a tiny enclosed space, mind – for as long as it takes until we get there. Fucking unfair if you ask me."

"That sucks arse," Blaise agreed, digging around in his bag and producing a Blackberry with a shocking pink cover. "Not as much as I do, but still. Hope you have something handy for my motion sickness. Ohh," he gripped his stomach, hunching over slightly. "I feel dizzy already."

Hermione looked stricken. Ron hastily stepped away from the other boy.

Zabini's face broke into a grin.

"Joke!" he cackled, snapping a picture of their startled faces.

And then, somehow, he managed to stuff his phone into the pocket of his skinny jeans. Considering that it looked like he'd painted them on, Ron was pretty sure he'd just broken at least three laws of nature to do it.

"Maybe if you'd stop with the horrid 'jokes' our drive would be fine," Hermione ground out, hand on hip.

Zabini cocked an eyebrow, mirroring her pose and tossing his head saucily. "Maybe if you grew a sense of humour we might even enjoy it."

Ron looked helplessly at Tori, hoping she would stop the impending catfight...only to find her giving Zabini a blatant thumbs-up.

"How about a rousing game of I Spy?" he blurted nervously, then winced.

It was official: he sucked at playing peacemaker. That was usually Harry's forte. But at least his pathetic attempt broke the two of them out of their pissing contest. Tori huffed at that, disappointed.

Zabini was staring at him strangely. Ron didn't like it.

"I Spy? Is it the American version where the players take peeps at each other?" questioned Zabini, intrigued.

"Er, no?" Ron squeaked. He _really_ didn't like the way Zabini was looking at him. "It's just regular I Spy."

"Ah, hell. That's no good," Tori whined. "Even watching paint dry would be more exciting. What do you guys do for _fun_ here?"

Ron shrugged. "Usually we just go with the first random idea we come up with and hope it doesn't blow up in our faces."

"God bless America," Zabini muttered, shaking his head.

"Well, here's my random idea," Tori said, grinning so widely they couldn't miss the silver hoops in her lip. "In the car we'll pop the wine bottles I swiped from the duty-free place and taste-test them all. We could even have a drinking contest. Who d'you reckon will be the most thrashed by the time we get to the hotel?"

Involuntarily Ron's eyes swivelled to Hermione, then quickly away. Man, that glare was scary. Basilisk Level 2, at least.

"Absolutely not!" Hermione snapped.

"Here, here!" Blaise agreed, shaking a pack of lollies so the plastic rustled.

Everyone looked at him in surprise.

"Wine tastes like cat piss," he went on, doling out his sweets to them. "Only ponces like Malfoy actually like it. All the inbreeding did in with his taste buds, I reckon. Beer's more my drink. And tequila when I'm in the mood."

He looked at Hermione, eyes glinting with an unholy light.

"You'll have to watch me, darling – when I've got a Tequila Sunrise in my hand, I'm anyone's. And if I start pawing your toy boy, I can't be held accountable."

He unwrapped a lollipop, stuck it in his mouth and winked. "Joke!"

Ron glanced at Hermione out of the corner of his eye and hid a smile. Even with all the experience he had with pushing her buttons, he'd never seen her so gobsmacked. It was a good look for her, really. Not that he'd ever say that to her face.

"I'm a whiskey double myself," Tori added absently, eyes hungrily tracking a tall, muscled security guard at least twice her age. "But you don't need to worry about Ginger with me. Too gangly."

"Hey!" spluttered 'Ginger'.

"Course, I could go for a good Cosmo right now," Zabini went on. "And have you seen the size of Ginger's feet? You know what they say about the feet."

Ron squawked, his face flaming. Hermione looked like she wanted to punch something. Belatedly, Ron remembered it was _that time of the month_.

"I thought you were actively avoiding stereotypes this week," remarked Tori to Blaise. "And that drink is so flaming it'd set you on fire."

"Oh, let's just face it: I'm a flaming pouf, there's nothing I can do about it, might as well rub it in everyone's faces."

"Could you at least...tone it down?" Ron begged. "I feel sort of uncomfortable."

"Well of course you do, darling. I'm currently undressing you in my mind."

Hermione let out a curse that had a passing mother of three glaring at her scathingly. Ron felt the situation quickly spiralling out of control.

"Well," Tori said, pulling her lolly out of her mouth with a wet pop, "this looks like the start of a beautiful relationship."

Ron sighed and buried his head in his hands.

End Part 1 of ?Omakes Coming (Relatively) Soon: 'The Slytherin Inquisition Pt 2'; 'Pagans, Playdates and The Forbidden Forest'

* * *

And for you slash fans...something lemony. My BFF told me it's ridiculously good, so here you go *eyebrow waggle*:

The heat intensified as Harry pressed up against Kurt from behind, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses against his neck. Kurt's head fell backwards onto Harry's shoulder as his eyes fell closed.

"No, I want you to watch," Harry growled, biting gently into the shell of his ear. Kurt moaned, and struggled to open his eyes. And then, oh Gaga, he couldn't tear his gaze away from the mirror.

Kurt, fully naked, hands tied behind his back with the scarf Harry claimed was his favorite, his mouth open and a flushed and wanting look on his face, leaning back into Harry's firm chest. Had he ever looked so-so wanton before? He met Harry's green eyes in the mirror, and Harry was giving him that _look_ that promised all those sweet, sinful things. His fingers twitched.

He watched, entranced, as Harry's hands smoothed over his chest, thumbs flicking against pert nipples, and down over his trembling stomach. The callouses on his palms made Kurt shiver in delightful anticipation. And gods, he loved how Harry's tan skin glowed against his paleness.

Harry chose that moment to step in front of him, bending down to practically devour Kurt's mouth in a searing kiss. Kurt managed to swing his arms up and around Harry's neck, gripping the slack part of the scarf tightly in his hands. The silky feel tickled their skin sensually and made them both groan into the kiss.

They separated, hot breath mingling between their open mouths as they panted. Large hands gripped his hips possessively - and then Harry was sliding down to his knees and his mouth - god, that mouth - began sucking and biting its way down his front. Harry's tongue dipped into his navel and his teeth nipped at his hipbones teasingly. Kurt gasped, squirming and moaning, needing Harry to be _there_, gods yes, just a little closer...

In a move worthy of the devil, Harry completely bypassed his cock, making Kurt groan with mingled desire and impatience. Harry chuckled, and licked a wet stripe up one thigh. Kurt bit his lip. Harry did it again, and again, then bit down hard, making him yelp.

"Sorry," he mumbled, adding little nips and sucks that left Kurt unconvinced of his apology.

"No you - _oh_!" Kurt's eyes rolled back as Harry's mouth encased the head of his cock in the most intense wet heat ever known to man. His hips jerked in surprise; Harry's hands tightened warningly, his thumbs smoothing over the dips in his hips. And then Harry began to flick his tongue and, sweet Versace, he was going to die.

His boyfriend was the worst tease ever.

THE END!

-  
hehehe

I'm done now. Love you people! :D


	4. Chapter 4

A/n: Two bits this time. This first one is something from my WIP: 'Pagans, Playdates and the Forbidden Forest'. I doubt it'll make the final cut, but writing interactions between the HP couples is surprisingly interesting. Or something. I do know that I haven't seen this much het in years.

* * *

So I'm putting this out there for anyone else that might enjoy it. Warnings for heterosexual limeish scenes.

Fred looked up lazily at the sound of approaching feet.

Angelina was back with the drinks. She'd changed into itty bitty pink bikini bottoms and a close-fitting pink T-shirt...and not much else.

Fred automatically accepted the glass she handed him, struggling not to stare too long at her chest area...Mama mia, Mona Lisa and the Holy Grail, he was one lucky bastard. He ignored the voices in his head – their suggestions were _so_ _not helping_.

Angie wrapped her braids up in a bun and shucked her beaded sandals. Now that her feet were bare, it was impossible to miss her recently-done toenails. Oooh, shiny.

"You like my French manicure, baby boy?" she asked, wiggling her fingers and puckering her lips at him.

"Very _jolie_ Angelina, if I do say so myself," Fred said. He somehow managed to grin and keep his eyes on her face...well, lips. Mmm, how he loved and hated when she wore lip-gloss, tempting him with plump strawberry goodness...

"I'm so tired of that old _bon mot_," Angie said, rolling her eyes as she rubbed herself down with sunscreen. "Have you lost your creative originality?"

"Blasphemy!" he cried, then shrugged helplessly. "Actually, I just can't think past 'you look really good almost naked'."

"En Français, s'il vous plaît."

"Tu es _très_ bien…uh, presque…something like non – noix – no, nue. Yeah, nue."

"That was incredibly painful."

"Hey, don't hate. That was the language of _luuurve_."

"Then maybe you should stick with English, the language that drags other languages into dark alleys, beats them half to death and runs off with their words."

Fred pouted.

"English is glorious and magical, babe. Just ask Harry, he's always going on about how much better it is to every other ever invented."

She laughed in his face. "Oh hell no, I've seen what he's like on a roll. I'm not falling for that. You just need to improve your foreign language skills."

"Are you offering to 'tutor' me?" asked Fred, perking up and waggling his eyebrows.

Angie snorted.

"Sure. Let's start with correcting your last sentence. Now, if you take out the 'presque'..."

Smirking, she dropped her towel onto a lounger and peeled off her T-shirt in one smooth motion. Fred nearly swallowed his tongue. _O la la_... It seemed Angie had joined Luna's no-bra crusade – and he really had to remember to thank the kid sometime. Angie's boobs were firm, and there was not a single strap-mark anywhere on that smooth skin. Her stomach was flat, and her biceps were firm and strong.

With her long shapely legs and cropped hair á la Halle Berry, she looked like an Amazonian warrior, Fred found himself thinking. Like a supermodel straight off the glossy pages of a super-special magazine. Like...like a _gâteau au chocolat_ goddess of the sun.

See? He did too know French.

Angie draped the shirt over the back of her lounger, cocking an eyebrow. If that wasn't an invitation he didn't know what was.

"So," said Fred faux-casually, as she slipped on her Gucci sunglasses and sat down, rubbing sunscreen onto those...newly exposed areas. It was terribly distracting.

Fred cleared his throat and tried again. "Leaving off the lessons for now...Here we are at my humble abode. Lots of food, no parents, and there's a lake between us and our closest neighbour. Not bad, huh?"

"It's nice," Angie replied, her voice a little grudging. She picked up her magazine and flicked to the right page. "Shame there's no tennis court..."

Fred felt a little guilty twinge for disturbing her plans for today...but really, she was brilliant at tennis. Missing one day of practice wouldn't kill her chances in the doubles.

And anyway, Katie was her partner and George had already datenapped her, so if Fred hadn't come along Angie would still be all alone on the court...In those awesome short-shorts and a tight shirt showing off her midriff...Getting leers from skinny pimply-faced bastards making lewd gestures with their rackets, which forced Fred to turn the machine on high so they were pummelled into the ground by tennis balls...

Ok, he didn't feel bad anymore.

"The point is, it's all ours," he persisted guiltlessly. "There's no-one else to worry about. We can do whatever we like."

He took another sip of juice to wet his dry mouth. Then he put the glass down on the ground, reached a hand out, and gently caressed her naked booby.

"Fred," she admonished, glancing in the direction the others had gone.

"The kiddies are fine," Fred said absently, enraptured by the contrast of his pale freckled hand against her soft dark skin...among other things. "They can't even see us over there by the lake."

His fingers rolled one brown nipple until it stiffened under his touch. Fred glanced at her reaction – her eyes were shaded behind the sunglasses, but her lip-glossed mouth was beginning to curve wickedly. And why did every Angelina have to have such perfect lips?

"I want your boobs," Fred said honestly.

"Fred..." Angie huskily murmured, shifting closer to him. "My boobs want you too."

'_Scoooore!_' all of the voices in his head chorused together, pumping their imaginary fists in the air.

Outwardly, Fred's blue eyes brightened, and his smile broadened into a smirk that could, and did, put fear into the hearts of the unwary. Only three things in the world could put that look on his face: mad science experiments, epic prank wars, and Angelina Jones.

"Let's have a siesta," he said in a low voice. Slowly, his finger circled her nipple, ran down her perfectly toned stomach and fingered her bikini bottoms. "With you and me as the V.I.P.s."

"That's Spanish," she pointed out. "And I don't think so. Wouldn't want to traumatize your non-existent neighbours, now would we?"

"Well, let's go inside then," he murmured, inching their loungers closer, "Where we won't disturb anyone. We have to think of the welfare of others."

"Oh sure, and that's all you think about, right?"

"I can be considerate," he said, winking. "It's what makes me such a great lover of women."

Angie snickered, then gave a sensual little wiggle that nearly drove him crazy. Fred ducked his head down and gently tugged at the ties of her bikini with his teeth. She murmured encouragingly, running her hands though his hair, fingernails lightly scraping his scalp. Fred tugged harder...but then she stiffened and tried to push him away.

"Fred!" Angie hissed. "I heard something! Fred, _stop_!"

"Hear no evil, speak no evil."

"Oh, come on – really!" Angie jerked away. "Listen."

Fred paused with the ties in his teeth and listened. Over the trees and bushes, in the direction where the sun glittered on the lake, they could hear the sound of laughter and loud voices coming closer.

Angelina sat up and reached for her T-shirt. Fred watched mournfully as she pulled it on again, all that glorious dark skin and those luscious breasts swiftly disappearing from view. "I think they're coming back."

"Damn." Fred muttered, flopping over. "I was so close, too."

By the time the others made it back, Angie was deeply engrossed in her mag, while Fred lay with an arm over his eyes, muttering to himself things like 'foiled plots', 'so close to victory' and 'I could have gotten away with it, too!'. As this was nothing out of the ordinary the others trooped loudly into the house, barely glancing at them a second time.

The only ones who seemed to realize they'd walked in on something were Harry (the notorious manslut), George (Fred wrote it off to their twin-thing) and Luna (who knew everything already so she didn't count). And as long as he denied everything, they could only guess what had happened and wouldn't be able to blackmail him.

Now all he had to deal with were their teasing jeers, knowing smirks and, in Luna's case, intent stares that felt like they were dissecting him piece by piece. All in all, it could be worse. But...

"You owe me for this," he muttered sulkily to Angie, who was snickering behind the mag shielding her face.

"Oh yeah?" One shapely eyebrow rose over the top of her shades. "How so?"

"I'm doing the time, and it's not even justified cause I didn't do the crime."

"Interesting analogy," she mused. She settled back in her seat with a smirk. "You'll just have to deal, baby boy."

Fred pouted again. "Where's the sympathy? I'm suffering, you heartless woman."

"Oh, suck it."

Fred sighed wistfully. "Oh, how I wish I could."

"Ugh." She stuck out her tongue, grimacing. "Please stop before you corrupt me further."

"What will you give me if I do?"

"I think the question is: 'What _won't_ I give you if you don't?'"

"...Point."

* * *

A/n: This one is a sort of 'missing scene' from back when Harry injured himself being the star player. -.- Idjit. Why are men so senseless when it comes to sports? And video games? And anything with a hint of violence?

Anyway...not really happy with how it came out but I'm tired of seeing it floating around my computer. Maybe I'll revise it later... –bashes head against keyboard-

* * *

The bathroom door opened with a cloud of steam. From his chair, Kurt peeked up from the magazine he was skimming to watch Harry surreptitiously.

His gaze lingered on Harry's thick, damp hair. It grew in cowlicks so that it was never really tamed – thus the spectacular amount of time and effort Harry put into primping. And who could argue with the results?

Kurt liked it this way too, all dark and curling around Harry's neck...water droplets sliding deliciously down his broad shoulders and that well defined back, and trailing teasingly down even further...

"I can feel your eyes on my arse," Harry said mildly.

Kurt jerked and guiltily tore his eyes away from the glorious sight before him.

"They weren't."

"Yes they were," Harry turned around, shooting him a grin. "It's a good thing this towel's here to protect my modesty. Otherwise I might feel sullied by your eye-raping."

Kurt huffed. "You only wish I'd stoop so low."

Harry nodded, completely unashamed.

"It's a good thing to lower your moral standards every once in a while. Preferably before they choke you."

"On the downside," Kurt pointed out, "I might lower them completely and never be able to pick them up again. I'd turn into you."

"I am offended. What is wrong with turning into me? I'm amazing."

"And no one believes that more than you."

"That's not entirely true – my minions worship me too. You should ask them about the time they started a cult where everyone dressed up as me. You are more than welcome to join."

Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, but I definitely won't be coming over to the dark side. I don't care how many cookies you have over there. Besides the fact that I'd be indulging your inner narcissist, you have to admit that you're immoral."

"I fail to see a problem with that," said Harry, smirking as he limped over to the closet. "And you'd make a great me."

"Was that a compliment?" Kurt asked dryly.

"The best kind," Harry smugly replied.

Kurt just sighed and shook his head. "Hurry up and get decent so I can deal with your ankle."

The groan Harry gave was entirely too justifying. At least he obeyed, even though he grumbled about bossy significant others and a serious misuse of limited make-out time. Kurt snickered.

Half an hour later, Kurt was _this close _to gagging his boyfriend and tying him to the bed. And not in a kinky way either.

"Ow! Ow, dammit! I told you there's nothing wrong with me!"

"Keep still or I'll tell you what's wrong with you," Kurt growled. "Trust me – you don't want to hear it. Although you could do with some ego-bruising."

"You're meeeeeaaaaannnnnn! Ow! You're doing that on purpose!"

Finally Kurt's manhandling finally paid off. Harry's ankle was set so Kurt reluctantly stopped fussing and released him. He leaned back on the wall and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Harry wobbling around on his crutches.

He still couldn't believe his boyfriend had been so stupid, pushing himself so far, completely uncaring about his own safety. All he could see was Harry lying beat up on a hospital bed, Harry's blood soaking Blaine's shirt.

All he could feel was the fear and hopelessness and anger, terrified that he was going to lose yet another person important to him. That he was going to lose Harry bloody Potter, and what the hell was wrong with him that he couldn't push those thoughts away now that it was over?

Kurt scrubbed tiredly at his eyes, feeling too emotionally wretched to keep up a brave face. When he opened his eyes Harry was leaning against the table next to him, fixing two mugs of coffee.

"Here we go...Dr. Potter's patented remedy," he said, filling the mugs with the ambrosia of the gods and topping them off with cream and Firewhiskey. "Guaranteed to lift sagging spirits, cure ingrown toenails and clear the pangs of a guilty conscience. This stuff could resurrect the dead. Bottoms up!"

Kurt giggled, then began to laugh. He took the mug Harry handed him, gulped some down, shuddered, and then laughed some more. He laughed until tears streamed from his eyes and he was hiccupping and crying at the same time.

Harry gently pried the mug from his shaking fingers. He kneeled in front of Kurt's chair and tugged him over onto his shoulder.

Hands fisted in his boyfriend's shirt, Kurt's whole body shook as he sobbed into the crook of Harry's neck. Harry murmured soft, reassuring words to him, carding one hand through his hair soothingly. It made Kurt cling to him and cry harder.

Harry's leg was killing him, but god, he wouldn't rather be anywhere else. Some things were worth hurting for. Kurt was worth hurting for.

Even though it was weird – he swore he'd never felt so exposed, so close to anyone before, not even when he'd be stark naked next to some random hook-up the morning after – he wouldn't change it for the world.

Knowing that Kurt was hurting because of him was gut-wrenching. Every tear twisted his insides into guilty, helpless knots. He imagined what it would be like if their positions were reversed, if Kurt had been the one in the hospital with critical injuries. His chest suddenly felt like strands of barbed wire were wrapping tightly around it, cutting off his breathing and piercing his heart.

He buried his face in Kurt's mussed hair and held him until he calmed down. Then they stumbled to the bed and just lay silently, soaking in the comfort of each other's presence. This...it felt even more intense than the make-out session he'd been looking forward to all week.

In those quiet moments, legs tangled together and eyes locked, Harry felt like he knew Kurt, almost like he was a kind of physical extension of himself. It was beautiful and terrifying but he didn't want to move and break the spell.

"I'm sorry," he finally murmured with a wry smile. "I can be a blockhead sometimes."

Kurt snorted wetly.

"You're a show-off and a complete git," he said, his tone teasing. "I knew that before we ever got together."

"But you love me anyway," Harry answered cheekily.

He took Kurt's hand. His grip was warm and sure and felt incredibly _right_. Kurt huffed a little, smiling.

"It's a constant struggle," Kurt agreed. "You're so high maintenance."

"But I'm worth it."

He sounded hesitant, like he wasn't sure if he was crossing a line that shouldn't be crossed. Kurt couldn't remember ever seeing him so vulnerable. Harry was always comfortable in his skin, filled with a confidence bordering on arrogance...it was part of the attraction.

He should never have to sound so insecure – not about them.

"Definitely," Kurt whispered, squeezing his hand lightly.

This close up, Harry's eyes were a beautiful, intense green. Kurt's breath caught as Harry pulled his hand away and lifted it to Kurt's face, pressing his fingers against his jaw. He drew them forward along Kurt's jaw line and touched his chin, and then up to trace the corner of his mouth. Kurt's lips tingled as Harry's fingers ghosted over them slowly, again and again.

Kurt felt his cheeks flush. Having Harry caressing his face was surprisingly intimate and a little surreal. He felt so exposed and strangely tense, but at the same time he didn't want Harry to stop his exploration.

And he never wanted the light, warm touches to stop, never wanted to stop drowning in the look that made him feel like the best thing in the world, the only thing that mattered...

The kiss felt inevitable, even though he hadn't been expecting it, not really. Or maybe he had. It was hard to think with Harry turning him into a pile of goo.

Still, the first brush of Harry's lips on his was electric. Harry kissed him tenderly, like he wanted to heal every hurt Kurt had ever had in his life. He easily lost himself in it, forgetting about everything but this amazing feeling of Harry's arms wrapped securely around him while he melted on the inside.

If he kept kissing him like this, Harry's stupidity would be forgiven in no time.


End file.
